


A meeting of two (souls and universes alike)

by PerplexinglyParadoxialPerson



Series: Universe in binary [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angry Lambert (The Witcher), Bathing/Washing, Brainwashing, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Bucky Barnes's Trigger Words, Bucky is so done, Dehumanization, Demiromantic Jaskier | Dandelion, Dissociation, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Finally, Flashbacks, Flower Crowns, Gen, Geralt and Jaskier get together, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Hair Braiding, Himbo Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Implied/Referenced Torture, Is it really a Witcher fic if there isn’t bathing?, Jaskier | Dandelion Being an Idiot, Kaer Morhen, Lore - Freeform, M/M, Minor Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Nightmares, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Pansexual Jaskier | Dandelion, Podfic Welcome, Protective Vesemir (The Witcher), Smart Steve, Soft Bucky Barnes, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Vesemir (The Witcher), Standard Winter Soldier Warnings, Steve is a nerd, The Conjunction of Spheres, The Convergence, The Tesseract (Marvel), The Witcher Lore, Transformative Works Welcome, Trial Of The Grasses (The Witcher), Universe Travel, Valdo Marx Being an Asshole, Valdo Marx dies, Winter At Kaer Morhen, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, Witcher Potions (The Witcher), monster fight, they’re both idiots but this time Geralt is less of one than Jaskier, torture of children aka
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:14:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29304054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerplexinglyParadoxialPerson/pseuds/PerplexinglyParadoxialPerson
Summary: The Asset is Hydra’s greatest weapon, but due to an unfortunate mishap with a Tesseract weapon, he ends up in a different universe, one with elves, dragons, and magic beyond his wildest imaginings. Luckily, two people, who are kind and understanding like he’s never seen before let him tag along with them. Unfortunately, they seem to believe that he’s under an evil spell of some kind. Of course, what can you expect from people so focused on their own pining that they can’t tell that the other is in love with them?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, James "Bucky" Barnes & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James “Bucky” Barnes & Jaskier | Dandelion, in the past and will happen again
Series: Universe in binary [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2152347
Comments: 118
Kudos: 125
Collections: WTF Philippines Relief 2020





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vexbatch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vexbatch/gifts), [Bill_Longbow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bill_Longbow/gifts), [rudearrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudearrow/gifts).



> So, this story is gifted to the wonderful people above, who bidded for this fic for the WTF Philippines relief charity auction! I complained in the discord that there weren’t enough Witcher/Marvel crossovers, and several people said that they would bid for one if I would write one, so this story happened! Thanks to all three of you for encouraging me and letting me ramble about lore and random facts from the wiki!
> 
> I’m also thanking the people who organized the WTF auction for making such an awesome event in such little time! The discord was super welcoming and supportive, and without it, this fic wouldn’t have happened!
> 
> So, thanks aside, the first draft is currently done at 66k words (20k longer than my previous longest fic, and done in two months in opposed to six) so strap in for a long ride! As I wrote this, the lore and history of this world just kept expanding in my mind, so do not read this if you want a cracky crossover! I currently have plans for at least 3 more longfics in this series (yes, three) and a lot more oneshots, so keep an eye out! 
> 
> I will be posting a new chapter every Saturday, but I was finished the first draft, and decided to get this posted while I ride that high!

**Location:Universe 200000, Ideal Federal Savings Bank, Washington, D.C.**  
**Date:February 24, 2012**

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Mary asked, lugging the rolling case with the weapon into the room where the Asset was sitting, an IV drip in its non-metal arm.

“It isn’t,” Robert said, trying to hide his nervousness at going into the room. “But since the time we were supposed to use to experiment with this weapon is also when we are supposed to keep an eye on the Asset as it is fueled for its mission, and our superiors will have our heads if we don’t do either of those tasks… we don’t have any other choice.”

“I’ve heard that the Asset attacks Hydra agents though,” she said, hiding behind the case that the weapon was enclosed in.

Women, no spine at all.

“Only after it’s been out for a while,” he said, keeping a careful eye on it nonetheless. “After it’s been wiped, it’s recalibrated and perfectly safe.”

“Are you sure?” She asked, looking confused. “Sometimes I hear a lot of screaming from the place where it’s recalibrated.”

“That’s the Asset that’s screaming,” Robert said, rolling his eyes.

“No wonder the screams sound so… inhuman,” she said dismissively. “But doesn’t that mean it feels pain?”

“It isn’t a person,” he said, glad he had the chance to properly educate her on the Asset.

“So it’s metal all the way through?” She asked.

“Of course not!” He said. “It’s organic, but it isn’t a person, it’s probably grown in a lab or something. Usually screaming isn’t something you consciously choose to do right? It’s an involuntary reaction to stimuli. I guess they just didn’t think it worth the effort to remove, so it just persists. I guess the reprogramming has to happen because of the limitations of an organic body. It doesn’t feel pain though.”

“Huh,” she said, looking over at it as they set up the weapon. “It’s kind of weird how much it looks like a person then, aside from the blank stare. It’s like… an uncanny valley effect. It’s close, but different enough to make it unnerving.”

“Exactly,” Robert said as he finished setting it up. “So we need to do a few tests, make sure it works. We can aim it at the metal arm so we don’t destroy the lab.”

“But the weapon is supposed to make things disappear right? Won’t it just make the arm disappear?” Mary asked.

“Of course not!” He said, annoyed by her ignorance. But women were naturally not as smart as men, he reminded himself. He had to be patient with her.

“Any other material, the gun would destroy, but I work on the metal arm personally, it’s made of an alloy of vibranium. Vibranium completely absorbs any blasts from this kind of weapon, I’ve heard about it from the nerds from records that have actually read the old reports of this weapon. It’s even safer than if we didn’t have the Asset around!”

“Well that works out perfectly then!” She said brightly. “Let’s fire it up!”

They went into the observation room and looked into the room, seeing that the Asset hadn’t even moved an inch. Robert pressed the button on the remote and it powered up with a whine, blue energy gathering around it.

Then, a bright blue light blinded him, and a loud zap could be heard, even from the enclosed room.

When the spots cleared from his eyes, the table where the Asset had been sitting was empty, an IV needle resting on the table.

“The Asset disappeared,” Mary said, dumbfounded.

“Oh shit,” Robert managed, stomach sinking. “Pierce is going to kill us.”


	2. The Witcher that wasn’t

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so a few notes before we begin. First of all, there is lots of talk about what Bucky and Geralt have been through throughout the whole story, so if you are triggered by anything in the tags, please don’t read the story!
> 
> Second, in the date section, I have the year as 1499, because I believe that the humans that arrived would count the date from when they first arrived in the Witcher universe, because of the differences. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy the angst!

**Location:Universe 9482438, Temeria, beside the Ismena river**

**Date:October 22, 1499**

Geralt was glad that Jaskier was so cheery, despite the fact they had been kicked out of the last village they had gone through. 

Of course, being kicked out of villages wasn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence, even after the many years of Jaskier’s songs, but every time, Geralt couldn’t help but worry that would be the last straw for Jaskier, and he would leave. The thing was, the people had offered to let Jaskier stay, as long as he got rid of “that monster,” but Jaskier had refused the offer and was now trotting along beside Roach, making a little ditty about how close-minded and rude the inhabitants of that small village were. 

The Ismena river beside them seemed perfectly calm and free of monsters, the sun was shining, they had enough food for days, and despite the mess earlier this morning, everything seemed perfect. 

And that was exactly why he was keeping himself on higher alert than normal, because whenever things went  _ this  _ well, as rare as it was, it usually ended up badly. And that wasn’t even counting the bad feeling in the pit of his stomach that was building quickly.

The thing was, normally when that feeling of unease was so strong, it was accompanied by even the faintest vibration of his medallion. Maybe wolves or bandits?

“Quiet bard,” he said firmly, stopping Roach so he could focus properly. 

Luckily Jaskier had learned that tone of voice meant it was serious, not mere annoyance, and he halted mid strum. 

Then a blue light scalded his eyes, making him duck behind his arm automatically, pulling his silver sword out. 

As he blinked frantically to clear the spots from his eyes, he heard a soft grunt, and the sound of someone rolling to disperse their momentum. He hadn’t felt the faintest vibration from his medallion, yet there was clearly someone there who had not been there before. Was it like Pavetta’s scream, something clearly magic, yet not making his medallion vibrate? But Pavetta had only made a storm of winds, not transported someone like a portal. 

“What on earth?” Jaskier asked, probably making his way to that person like an idiot—he opened his eyes fully, fighting the dimness of the area against the spots in his eyes, and saw a figure in a fighting crouch, still, but ready for whatever may happen. 

“Jaskier,” he warned, seeing him slowly edging towards the figure. 

He blinked harder, slipping from the saddle, and the world slowly resolved into its normal brightness as Jaskier stopped with an aggrieved sigh. 

“If he wanted to attack he would have done so by now,” Jaskier said, like it was obvious. 

Usually true of course, unless they were trying to lull them into a false sense of security. 

The figure was dressed in black, almost like a Witcher but… something about it was wrong. They were in a defensive crouch, blue-grey eyes with  _ normal _ pupils wild and darting, clearly debating running or not, the scent of fear heavy in the air. 

Definitely not a Witcher then. 

It didn’t seem that he had gone through whatever kind of portal that was expecting being transported like this, so it probably wasn’t an attack. He was clearly trained and skilled if he could turn an unexpected fall from whatever that was into a roll, and the assessing look he was aiming at Geralt, but he had no sword or bow, his hand on… an oddly shaped piece of metal, definitely not a knife with the odd… handle? Sticking out at an odd angle. It was clearly a weapon though, if he went for it in a possibly threatening situation. 

The other hand, braced to guard himself was… metallic. He had no sleeve on that side, showing what looked to be an arm and hand shaped out of metal, like a sculpture, segmented like armour, but even more so, probably allowing even more mobility, like chain mail. There was a bright red star on the ball of the shoulder, maybe some kind of sigil? He heard a tiny whirring sound, and the hand moved slightly into a better position for defence, like it was being animated by a sorcerer. 

His eyes were wide, darting between Geralt and Jaskier, like the bard was a proper threat. 

The mask was odd, covering his nose and mouth, long, dark, scraggly hair covering his head. He seemed to be completely covered in black fabric and leather, looking like armour but not quite, with many leather straps with matte black fasteners, everything tight to the skin and probably meant to intimidate. 

“Well this is awkward!” Jaskier said cheerfully, breaking through the tense silence easily. 

Well, he was probably right in that the man was unlikely to attack. Terror emanated from him, and he was guarded, not attacking. It was also doubtful that he had even meant to be transported here in the first place. 

“Now, I’m Jaskier and this is Geralt. What’s your name, and how did you appear here?” 

The man cocked his head. Geralt asked the same question in Elder, just in case he didn’t know common, but he seemed even more confused. 

Just when Geralt was about to attempt the question in the Skelliger jargon, he shuddered slightly and croaked, “the Asset doesn’t have a name.” 

Jaskier gasped, eyes wide, and Geralt’s stomach dropped. 

“Unknown mode of transport,” he continued, voice stiff and without inflection. “The Asset was shot with an unknown weapon and appeared here.” 

“What the fuck,” Jaskier breathed, the scent of his worry getting strong. 

Geralt put his sword away and slowly edged forwards, hands up to show that he had no weapons, hoping that maybe that would help. 

He had heard of mages controlling minds so heavily that the victim lost all sense of self, and in that case… they had no will other than that of their controller, and that made him unlikely to attack unless threatened, or ordered to, and Geralt couldn’t sense anyone else in the area. But why would someone—as he stepped closer, he could smell a whiff of his base scent beneath the fear and… it was like a Witcher’s scent, but different somehow. No wonder he was being controlled, if he had the strength that his scent suggested. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked, sounding worried. 

His medallion wasn’t buzzing like he would expect with how strong the spell must be, but maybe it was hidden well. But if he responded to their question like it was an order… maybe the spell didn’t have one specific controller, which might make the spell stronger? 

The closer he edged, the more the fear scent cut through the man's base scent, tilting his head back slightly to expose his throat. 

He stepped back slightly, hands still up, and turned his head to speak with Jaskier. “He is likely under a strong compulsion spell, and for some reason he followed our orders.” 

“A compulsion spell?!” Jaskier said, waving his hands around. “That’s awful! Why would they do that?” 

“He smells like a Witcher,” he said quietly, keeping an eye on the man. “They likely wanted him for his strength.” 

“But he doesn’t have eyes like a Witcher,” Jaskier said. “I know well that Witcher eyes can be any normal color, but they always have pupils like a cat.”

“You’re right. He smells different though, like someone tried to create a Witcher without any knowledge of anything beyond the basics. Likely the cause of the normal pupils.” 

“Makes sense,” Jaskier said. “But aren’t Witchers resistant to spells? If they wanted to control someone that heavily, it would be extremely hard to do that to a Witcher.”

“It would be difficult, but that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t do it,” Geralt said. He remembered hearing stories of a Wolf Witcher going on a rampage, seeing Vesemir’s face fall when he heard it was an old friend of his, how the controlled Witcher had died at the hands of a group of peasants armed with pitchforks once the spells had fallen with the mage’s death. 

How the Witcher had surrendered to his death once he realized what he had done.

It was incredibly rare, that both a mage would have the power for it, and that they would be able to capture a Witcher to try it on. 

He had feared that Yennefer would be that way when he had first met her, and if Jaskier’s life hadn’t been on the line he likely would have stayed far away, because if she was unconnected to the mages of Aretuza, he had feared that he may be used to seek power over them. Of course, that thought had disappeared after the djinn battle, but she was certainly powerful enough to do it.

Well that’s awful!”Jaskier said cheerily, then changed the subject quickly. “We need a name for you. We can’t just call you the Asset, not only is it very likely to raise questions as to your history, but it’s also a terrible name. Do you have any suggestions? Maybe a preference for a certain type of name?” 

“The Asset has no name,” he said, sounding more confused and apprehensive. 

“I did hope I would be wrong,” Jaskier said sadly, probably hoping that the man had a preference, no matter how small. 

Chances were, even if he did have one, he would not voice it, even on pain of death. 

“I’ll name you Akvamar then! If you don’t like it, or want to change it, just tell us and we’ll do that.” 

He only looked more confused with that, it was clear he had never been treated like that before. 

“What are your current orders?” Geralt asked carefully. 

Akvamar almost relaxed, clearly this was something a little more familiar. “Current orders, stay in place for refueling.” 

“Refueling?” Jaskier asked, “not eating?” 

“The Asset does not eat,” he said, head cocked in confusion. “It is given IV nutrition.” 

“It?” Geralt murmured, horror rising in his chest. Would humanity's cruelty never cease? 

“IV?” Jaskier asked, looking confused. 

“Nutrient smoothies are given when there is no access to an IV,” Akvamar said, looking a little desperate. 

He was trying to be helpful, but Geralt had no idea what a smoothie was either. 

“It’s clearly something like food,” Jaskier said, “and provides nutrients, but not something to eat… is it like broth?” 

He cocked his head, and slowly said, “it is similar.” 

“If he’s on a liquid diet then we’ll have to wean him off of it slowly,” Geralt said. “If we stop to rest early, I can catch something and let it simmer.” 

“But where are we going?” Jaskier asked. “We need to get whatever spell is keeping him controlled gone. We can’t just… leave him like this.” 

“We should go to Yennefer then,” Geralt said, feeling a warmth in his chest as he said it. “My medallion can’t sense the spell, so it must be hidden well. If anyone can figure out how to break it, it would be Yennefer.” 

Jaskier groaned in frustration. “Her? Really? I thought we wanted to make him not mind-controlled, not more mind controlled like she did to those people when you came to her to fix me!” 

“She wasn’t controlling them,” Geralt snapped, annoyed that Jaskier was insulting her like that. “She made it so they had less inhibitions. Yes, they did things they wouldn’t normally do, but it wasn’t things they  _ didn’t  _ want to do.” 

“My point still stands,” Jaskier said, rolling his eyes. “And if you weren’t so enamoured with her then maybe you’d see that!” 

Geralt seethed and growled, “I’m not—“ 

He could smell a sudden spike of fear, cutting through the anger between them, and he turned his gaze to Akvamar. 

His eyes were wide with fear, darting between them as he tensed into a defensive position. It reminded him of the castles of all the kings who took their anger out on their servants, the servants ready to bolt the moment the king became angry. But if he was controlled, that meant he couldn’t bolt to safety. He was scared that they would take their anger out on him. 

“Let’s get going,” Geralt grunted, walking towards Roach. “She’s the only sorcerer close to us that we know how to find anyway, and she’s more likely to help us. If she’s unreasonable, or does more harm than good, we can try to find someone else.” 

Jaskier sighed dramatically and threw up his hands. “Fine, whatever you say. But if she does make it worse, remember, I warned you! And how do you know where she is anyway? It’s not like you exchange letters with her!” 

“Let’s  _ go,”  _ Geralt grumbled, not wanting to admit that if he focused, he could always know where Yennefer was, due to the wish that tied them together.

Geralt swung up on Roach as Jaskier stalked forwards. 

Akvamar watched Roach with wide eyes, looking like he had never seen a horse up close before.

Geralt had her walk a little closer to him, and he shied away from her like she was a threat. He had heard a few rumours about Witchers having demon horses, maybe Akvamar had heard those as well? 

“Go on and pet her,” he said quietly. “She doesn’t bite.”

He walked forwards slowly, but didn’t turn to the side, he went at her straight on. 

“Stop.” Geralt ordered, and Akvamar immediately froze in place, a sudden scent of fear rising up. 

“You are not in trouble,” Jaskier said softly. “It’s just that horses cannot see what’s directly in front of them, so you can’t approach them from the front unless you want to get bitten.” 

“Oh,” he said, incredibly quiet. 

He slowly edged to the side and cautiously extended his metal hand to her nose. She snuffled idly at the metal palm, looking eager to go on, but indulging him. 

But how did he not know how to approach a horse? Maybe not everyone had a horse, but they were so common on the roads, and even in the cities, and donkeys and mules were even less expensive, with the same rules for approaching, so everyone knew not to approach a horse from the front. Most of the time it wasn’t even something that was taught, it just happened, like learning how to speak. Maybe if he had been experimented on when he was very young, then kept away from others?

Geralt started down the road, with Jaskier walking beside him, not willing to waste daylight. Akvamar stayed still though, looking at them like they were leaving him behind. 

“Aren’t you coming?” Jaskier asked.

“Current orders are to stay still for refueling,” he said roughly. 

“But you aren’t being refueled,” Jaskier said thoughtfully. “Don’t you want to have the spell removed?” 

The wide eyed look on Akvamar said it all, even if he did want the spell removed, he would not be able to follow them unless they ordered him to. Jaskier’s face fell, and Geralt decided to take pity on Akvamar. 

“Follow us,” he grunted, and Roach began to walk. 

He could almost smell the relief. 

They walked in near silence for a while, only making Geralt more alert. Whenever Jaskier was silent, it always meant trouble, and he seemed so worried about Akvamar. 

However, after only a few minutes, he strummed a chord and began to hum. 

“I have to ask,” Jaskier said to Akvamar. “Will you be able to walk for the rest of the day? We don’t go very fast unless a monster is chasing us, but we walk for a long time, for multiple days in a row. Will you be able to do that?” 

“The Asset does not tire,” he said dully. “The Asset has endurance far past that of a human.” 

“Well,” Jaskier said, blinking. “That's... useful information. But even Geralt tires eventually, and he’s a Witcher, the same as you.” 

“The Asset does not tire,” Akvamar said again.

Or at least, Geralt thought, he isn’t  _ allowed  _ to tire. Witchers  _ were  _ far slower to tire than any human, but they still needed rest eventually. They may be able to replace much of their need to sleep with meditation, but it was still rest all the same.

But that was most humans' interpretation of a Witcher’s skills, that they could go on forever, because that was what they saw.

How far had Akvamar been pushed? If he had no control over when he was to push on, and when to take a break, how far over his limits had he been forced to go? 

Witcher training was intense, especially after the trials, but he had rarely been pushed past his limits, and even when he was, he knew they were only pushed so hard so they would survive the even harsher world outside of Kaer Morhen, and were being prepared for what lay down the mountain. They had all had the others in their age group, the other Witchers that they knew were on their side when all was said and done, the support and unsaid words. Akvamar had likely had none of that. 

Jaskier shuddered lightly, then began a complex song, one that usually meant Geralt preventing him from walking right off the road when he got deep into it. It was one he played rarely, usually after Geralt got injured badly, or a performance where he was received badly, when he didn’t want to think. 

Geralt wished he could make potions on horseback. The rigid instructions and complicated method always calmed his mind when it wouldn’t settle and… he couldn’t stop going over every bit of training he had received, imagining it with brutal teachers, ones that cared not for his safety on the Path, but mere results, experimentation. 

He imagined that the mages that gave them the mutagens, the ones that had looked at him with cold eyes when he had endured the first trials so easily, were in charge of their training. They had eyed him like he was a potion material that was stronger than usual, an object, not a person. “Interesting,” they had said, eyes glinting. “Interesting.” 

He locked his body down when a shiver threatened to make its way through his body, remembering the exact look in their eyes, the precise timbre of their voices. His strong memory was a blessing when fighting, knowing precisely what had worked before, but other times it was… inconvenient.

He could only focus sharply on his surroundings, precisely focused on every bird in the trees, every rustle of bushes, just in case whatever mage had hurt Akvamar came back to retrieve their “Asset.” If that happened, he would be ready. They would not have control of him ever again.


	3. A necessary instruction manual

**Location:Universe 9482438, Temeria, beside the Ismena river**

**Date:October 22, 1499**

Jaskier had never despised his fantastic imagination more. 

He disliked imagining what humans had done to make Geralt so wary of them, and he hated imagining what might be happening to Geralt when he left Jaskier in an inn while he was fighting a more dangerous monster. But he knew that people rarely got anywhere near actually hurting Geralt, besides with words, and Geralt always came back from his contracts alive, if not well. 

This was different though. 

Akvamar acted so… empty, like a waterwheel driven mill, not having a choice in when he moved, driven by the water, not his own mind and thoughts. 

Even Geralt looked tense when they realized the extent of what the mage had done to him, doing who knows what to him, making him refer to himself as an  _ it,  _ as nothing but an asset, like he wasn’t human at all. 

And when Geralt revealed that he had at the very least heard of people—of  _ Witchers _ that had been controlled like that… the look on his face had been incredibly controlled and calm, like it didn’t affect him at all, but Jaskier knew better. 

The more tightly controlled his face and body were, the more he was feeling, whether physically or emotionally. He had learned it from Geralt’s habit of downplaying his injuries. 

He had given up on the technically complex song just a little bit ago, fingers tired after playing it for most of the day. 

He preferred performing to clear his mind, the complexity of performing while figuring out what would best influence his audience to give coin more fun and distracting, but he couldn’t exactly do that on the road. 

Judging by Geralt’s tension and alertness, he was likely trying to distract himself from the possibilities as well. 

Akvamar was… stoic. His eyes were glazed over and empty, like his soul had left his body, just putting one foot in front of the other. 

Then Geralt began steering Roach to the side of the road, much earlier than usual, but if they wanted a broth, they would need that time. 

Geralt and Jaskier worked quickly, easily setting their camp up without needing to talk, something that always made Jaskier proud, being so in tune with Geralt. 

While Jaskier searched for kindling, Geralt caught his attention with a “Hmm.” 

“Go on and hunt,” Jaskier said, searching underneath a bush. “I’ll forage for some herbs, and maybe some mushrooms or wild veggies if I can find them. It’s rare that we have the time to actually cook them!” 

Geralt made an annoyed grumble, and Jaskier rolled his eyes where he couldn’t see him. “I’ll stay in earshot, you worrywort.” 

When he went back to the fire with his bounty of sticks, he saw Akvamar standing there, looking confused. Now that he thought about it, nobody else had really witnessed their habits when they set up camp in the wilderness, it was probably kind of weird. 

“Just sit down next to the to-be fire,” he said. 

Akvamar instantly moved forwards and sat abruptly. He couldn’t help but feel a small burst of anger at what the mage might have done to make him react that quickly. 

“I’ve actually learned how to speak Witcher quite well,” he said, starting to make the base for a proper cooking fire. “It’s all in the tone really, you just need to actually listen and observe, something many people have trouble with, especially when it’s a Witcher.”

“He lets me know when he’s going because he’s quiet enough that I can’t tell any other way, and in the first week we were acquainted he went into the woods to hunt, and I’m rather ashamed to say that I freaked out a little bit. In my defence, he is incredibly silent, and it was basically night, and then I heard wolves howling, and suddenly there was no one around. I ran around like crazy, shouting for him and disturbed a deer that he was about to shoot! We didn’t have anything to eat that night, and now he makes sure to alert me when he’s going out to hunt.” 

He grabbed the flint and steel and began to try to light the fire. “I’m not very good at lighting fires, but Geralt says I have to practice so I don’t freeze to death when I’m on my own. He’s actually a massive worrywart despite his “I don’t care about anything” look. He insists that I stay within his earshot whenever we’re in the woods, insists that something will be attracted by my constant chatter and possibly hurt Roach.” 

The sparks finally lit into a proper flame, and Jaskier sat back in satisfaction. “And now to find some plants. Are you able to tend to the fire?” 

He would assume that most people would be able to do that, but he hadn’t had any clue about how to interact with Roach, so who knew? 

“Keep the fire from going out?” Akvamar asked cautiously. 

“Exactly!” Jaskier said, heading off into the woods. “Just call out if you need us!” 

It was so much easier to search for plants in the light like this, and it was autumn, so there was a surprising amount of things that looked ripe.

When he got back, Geralt was already butchering three rabbits, sitting next to Akvamar who was poking idly at the fire with a stick. He seemed less tense than he had been when Jaskier had left, but he had kept the mask on. 

“I got a good haul!” He said as he began to rinse them off. “Some good herbs, a few carrots and some wild onions!” 

“Good,” Geralt said. “I’ll fill the pot, then we can put everything in and let it simmer.” 

He carefully set the rabbits down and Jaskier tossed him his water skin, then he headed into the woods. Jaskier chopped everything up and when Geralt came back with a full pot he put everything in the pot. 

“Well that’s done,” Jaskier said. “It will need to simmer for a while, and we still have some daylight left. What should we do now?” 

“I would like to test Akvamar’s skills,” Geralt said slowly. “Am I correct in assuming that you were used for your strength?” 

He nodded. 

“I’d like to spar. Getting a better idea of your abilities can only be good.” 

Geralt stood, and went to the edge of the clearing and cut a large circle into the grass with his sword. 

“This will be our arena. A barehanded fight until one of us is pinned and can’t wriggle free, agreed?” 

Akvamar looked slightly confused, but nodded in agreement. Geralt took off the bulkiest pieces of armour, and stepped inside the ring. Akvamar took off nothing, not even his mask, but stepped in as well. 

He leapt at Geralt without warning, and the fight began. It was so fast that Jaskier could barely tell what was happening, black armour blurring with the speed. He couldn’t even tell the tumbling bodies apart, only seeing a blur of black, and long hair, both white and brown. The fight was even more… entrancing than when Geralt fought monsters, because he was fighting an  _ equal,  _ bare fist to bare fist. If he had thought that Geralt fighting monsters was like a dance, then this was even more so, a stunningly choreographed dance of destruction.

Then something happened, far too fast for Jaskier to see, and they were both on the ground, Geralt below Akvamar. Geralt struggled hard, thrashing and almost unseating Akvamar, but he pressed him down again with a snarl, eyes wild. 

“I give,” Geralt grumbled. 

In an instant, Akvamar’s eyes widened and he scrambled off Geralt like he had just realized he was poisonous. 

He was trembling now, shaking from head to toe, and he crumpled to his knees, head bowed forwards and arms behind his back like a man in chains. 

“Punishment required,” he gasped roughly. “Attacked handler.” 

Geralt’s eyes were almost as wide as Jaskier’s eyes surely were, glancing at each other in surprise. 

Punishment required? Jaskier was afraid to think of what punishment might consist of, but he doubted it was something simple. 

The thing was, if Akvamar knew that attacking a “handler,”—which was probably the person in charge of him—required punishment… then he had likely attacked one before. If he was aware enough to do that even once, he couldn’t help but be incredibly glad. Whoever his “handler” was, they deserved all the pain Akvamar could give out. 

Geralt slowly got to his feet, which only made Akvamar tremble more. “You do not require punishment,” he said gruffly. “You did exactly what I asked of you, which was to spar with me. You got off me when I surrendered, and stayed in the arena. You won fairly. I won’t punish you.” 

“Punishment is required,” Akvamar gasped, eyes wide with confusion. 

“It isn’t. If you do something out of line, we will talk about it. I will not give you punishment.” 

Then Akvamar looked over at Jaskier, and said again, “punishment is required.” 

Jaskier felt the sudden urge to throw up at the thought of him being the one to give whatever punishment he was looking for. He remembered how some of his friends at Oxenfurt had been badly beaten by their parents, all in the name of punishment. Some of them still had the scars.

“I won’t punish you either,” he choked out. “Never. You don’t deserve that.” 

Akvamar still looked confused, but began to edge out of his submissive posture very slowly. 

“What else do you have skills in?” Geralt asked, sitting abruptly, clearly uncomfortable by his own show of emotion. 

“Hand to hand combat, armed combat, assassination, infiltration, skilled with a sniper rifle—“ 

“What is a sniper rifle?” Geralt asked. “I believe a sniper is a bowman tasked with taking highly accurate shots at longer range, is a rifle a type of bow?” 

“No,” Akvamar said, looking very confused. “It is a type of gun.” 

“What is a gun?” Jaskier asked. Maybe it was a type of weapon that hadn’t made it out of a certain area of the Continent yet? 

“This is a gun,” he said, pulling out a matte black piece of metal. 

“How is that a projectile?” Geralt asked, brow wrinkled in confusion. “You would have to throw it to do any damage, and then you’d have to retrieve it. How is that effective at all?” 

“It is not…” Akvamar said, looking at them like they were crazy. “The gun itself is not the projectile. There are small pieces of metal inside that are propelled by a small explosion. They travel very fast and far, will often go through a person if shot in the right place.” 

“An explosion?” Jaskier asked. “But if a sniper means being very accurate… explosions are very random. And I’ve seen Geralt use bombs, they need to be lit first.” 

“It does not need to be lit,” Akvamar said, more confidently now. “It is shot by just pressing the trigger, and it is very accurate. The barrel,” he gestured to the long circular part, “steadies the shot. The longer the barrel, the farther it can be accurate for, and it can be accurate up to about 300 yards.” 

“300 yards?” Geralt said, eyes wide. “Bows are accurate until about 50 yards, and crossbows until about 80. That sounds… incredibly useful.” 

“Very,” Akvamar said, looking almost proud. “And the Asset can shoot farther than any non-enhanced human.” 

“I want to see this,” Jaskier said, glad that he was acting more like a person than the beaten dog he had acted like before. “Geralt, can you make a target?” 

“Sure,” he said, and disappeared into the brush. 

Akvamar put the gun away and grabbed a longer one, fiddling with it, his metal hand clicking against the metal of the gun. 

A minute later, Geralt called out, “I have a target for you! It’s not 300 yards, but much farther than a crossbow could be accurate.” 

Jaskier could barely see Geralt properly, much less whatever target he apparently had, but if Akvamar had the same enhanced eyesight that Geralt did, it was probably possible. 

Akvamar stood up straight, looking down the barrel, and there was a sudden loud bang, then four more in quick succession, and he took the gun off his shoulder. 

“Well,” Jaskier said weakly, “you did say it was an explosion. I really should have been ready for the sound.” 

Geralt came back with one of the rabbit skins, a rough target drawn on it with charcoal. 

“That was quite accurate,” Geralt said. “Especially with the wind. But did you really have to show off like that?” 

“Show off?” Jaskier asked. 

“Look at the target,” Geralt said, spreading the skin out on a stump. “There’s one shot exactly in the middle, but also four in a cross shape around it, with precise spaces between them. Again, a show off.” 

“I think it’s impressive,” Jaskier said, admiring the perfectly spaced holes. 

Akvamar all but puffed up in pride. 

“These are the metal pieces that are shot from the gun right?” Geralt asked, placing some round pellets of metal on the stump. 

“I can’t use those anymore,” Akvamar said. “There’s a little bit of explosive material in the case of the bullet, which is attached to the bullet until it’s shot. Then that part explodes, which launches the bullet.” 

“How many do you have left?” Geralt asked. 

“Not many,” Akvamar said. “And otherwise, I have no clue what they’re made of, or how to make them.” 

“You’ll have to save them,” Geralt said. “Just in case. Can you use the Signs?” 

“Signs?” Akvamar asked, cocking his head. 

“I guess you wouldn’t if you haven’t interacted with a proper Witcher before,” Geralt said. 

“The soup is starting to smell good,” Jaskier said, suddenly starving as the scent drifted over to them on the wind. 

“Hmm,” Geralt said, moving to Roach to grab his tin bowl from his pack. 

“I guess you wouldn’t have a bowl,” Jaskier said. “I bet you didn’t exactly have time to prepare for coming somewhere completely different! You can share mine. Would you like to have it first?” 

Akvamar shuddered slightly and said, “nutrition is not necessary yet. After an IV is given, a day passes, and afterwards a smoothie is given three times a day.” 

“Oh,” Jaskier said, heart falling. He had thought that the spell was wearing off, but it seemed it was only that way until a rule was bumped into. 

“How long has it been since your IV?” 

“Several hours,” he said roughly. “It was given just before the transportation.” 

“You should still eat,” Jaskier said, reminded of the way Geralt would try to avoid eating when they didn’t have much food, trying to leave more for him. “Who knows when we might run dry of food.” 

Akvamar’s face twisted slightly, but aquesied with a nod. Geralt poured some broth into the bowl, and Akvamar sipped at it, but his face twisted. 

“Do you not like it?” Jaskier asked. “I know we didn’t exactly have a lot of herbs to add, but surely it wasn’t that bad!” 

“It is good,” he said, looking desperate. “It is good. That’s not… that’s not how it  _ works.”  _

So the soup being good was what was wrong. Jaskier wanted to tear whoever had burned that into his mind to _ pieces,  _ along with the people who had convinced Geralt he was a monster. Maybe it wasn’t always feasible to have your food taste good, but it should at least be a goal! 

By the look on Geralt’s face, he was also considering murder. The man barely accepted that kind of thing for himself, but would murder to give someone else that same thing. Typical. 

At least it was a nearly guaranteed way to give Geralt some pampering, pretend that  _ he  _ was the one who needed such things as sleeping in an inn, and more spices for their meals on the road. (Admittedly, such things were nice, but it was so much more satisfying when giving them to Geralt.) 

“You are eating with us,” Geralt rumbled. “Your food will be as good as ours.” 

Akvamar still looked confused, but quickly slurped up the remaining broth and handed the bowl to Jaskier. 

He wasn’t quite feeling like eating after all the awful revelations today, but Geralt gave him a piercing look and an annoyed grunt. “I won’t have you fainting on the road and slowing us down. You need to eat.” 

“Aww, you do care!” Jaskier said, filling his bowl. 

Geralt liked to pretend that he couldn’t care less about Jaskier, but he could have easily left him behind with Roach when they met, or even recently! That wasn’t even mentioning how much trust Geralt put in Jaskier, to see him wounded, to wash his hair when he bathed, to teach Jaskier about his potions and their effects. He may not say it explicitly (like Jaskier desperately wanted him to) but he said it with his actions, loud and clear. He still had doubts sometimes, but he buried them quickly whenever they occurred. Geralt didn’t deserve that doubt. 

Then Akvamar shivered slightly. 

“You okay? Cold?” He shook his head and Jaskier left off. He could tell when people didn’t want to talk. 

Geralt was looking at Akvamar kind of weirdly, but maybe his scent was just kind of weird. 

They sat for a while, staring into the fire as the sun fully set, and Akvamar finally seemed to be relaxing, slumping in on himself. 

When he nearly fell off the log he was sat upon, Geralt stood up. “Time to sleep,” he said gruffly. “We need to get up bright and early in the morning.” 

“You don’t have a bedroll!” Jaskier realized as he walked to his. “You can take mine, and I can sleep with Geralt.” 

“Fine,” Geralt grumbled. Akvamar blinked blearily, then staggered over to Jaskier’s bedroll and flopped down. 

“Rest is not required,” he said blearily. 

“How long until it is required?” Jaskier asked. 

“Never,” he said dully. “The Asset does not require sleep.” 

“You clearly do need it,” Jaskier said, remembering how in the beginning of their aquaintenship, Geralt wouldn’t sleep, to “keep watch,” and insisted that he didn’t need sleep, could get by on just meditation. 

He was wrong of course, and Jaskier had seen him with no sleep before the djinn. He made very poor decisions when he was tired. (Summoning a djinn to get some sleep? Really? Surely he had heard the story about the princess that slept for a hundred years and realized where a wish like that could go wrong) 

“Not only do you look exhausted, but I know for a fact that Geralt, who is very similar to you in terms of abilities, very much needs regular sleep. You should at least try to get some sleep.” 

Akvamar shuddered slightly and said, “yes sir.” Then he slipped inside the bedroll and went still. 

Jaskier felt slightly nauseous at how Akvamar had instantly obeyed him. Would he do that with anything Jaskier even implied was an order? Even awful things? 

“Come here,” Geralt said lowly. Jaskier slipped into Geralt’s warm arms and cuddled in close. 

“It is good that you ordered him,” he said, whispering in Jaskier’s ear, and making him shiver. Geralt was just so  _ close,  _ he could never quite think properly when they were like this. “He needs orders. He can’t do much without them, and the ones that you’re giving are minimal, ones that are necessary to keep him alive and well.” 

“That… helps,” Jaskier whispered, relaxing into Geralt’s warm body. “I just… want him to not have to follow orders like that.” 

“Me too,” Geralt murmured. “He deserves better.”


	4. Sickness and softness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, warning for Bucky being drugged and vomiting! Simply, the metal arm gives him doses of drugs to keep him compliant, but it has run out, and he’s now going through withdrawal, so be cautious.

**Location:Universe 9482438, Temeria, near the town of Greenrock**

**Date:October 25, 1499**

Geralt had been suspicious when Akvamar had gone quiet and tired a few nights ago. 

Right beforehand, he had heard a whirring sound, like the sound of the metal arm when it moved, but with no accompanying movement. Then his scent had dulled immediately, the scent associated with faint happiness disappearing. And then he had quickly gone tired and almost limp. 

In some ways, it reminded Geralt of when a human would take poppy for the pain, dulled emotions and lucidity, tiredness, not being able to think clearly… if it was true, then it would be a boon for the warlock who had Akvamar under a spell, make him not even aware that he had to fight against the control. 

It kept happening, was the thing, twice a day, and at no point was he swallowing anything, like would be needed to produce those effects. 

Even Witcher potions, that seemed to take effect much faster than anything that humans took, needed to be drunk to produce their effects. 

Except… that wasn’t quite true was it? Getting poisoned by monsters usually meant getting an injury, and the poison coming in through that, and even humans could get the effects from the poison quickly with that route. Maybe something like poppy could take effect that way as well.

And since the metal arm would make a noise before his scent would change, it was likely that the arm was the thing applying it, because if it was able to move with a spell… it was entirely possible that whatever mage had enslaved him would make the arm able to drug Akvamar to keep him in control while he was away from the mage and fighting the spell. 

Because he  _ was _ fighting it. 

He may still be quiet, and following every order they gave him, but he would ask questions, more common a little bit before he got drugged, when the drug had worn off. 

It hadn’t happened yet today, but the day was still young, and it shouldn’t be something to be worried about, especially with a village on the horizon. 

“I’ll go in and see if there are any contracts,” Geralt said. 

“Are you trying to leave me behind?” Jaskier gasped dramatically. “Me? Your loyal bard?!” 

“We don’t want anyone to recognize Akvamar,” Geralt said. “And it would probably be best that he is… supervised in case something goes wrong.” 

“You aren’t wrong,” Jaskier said thoughtfully. “But we can make camp here for a bit. Maybe you could get us some kind of grain to make a kind of porridge to get Akvamar on solid foods? Make sure to let us know if you’re heading out on a contract though.” 

Geralt nodded, and pointed them towards a good spot, then headed into the village. 

It was a simple enough contract, a few drowners in a pond. They had caused a few scares, and had nearly pulled a child in, so the villagers were glad that he could take it out before they could cause any permanent harm.

The people were wary of him, had whispered about him not having the bard with him, but were not outright aggressive, and willing to pay him a halfway decent amount for the contract. Not nearly as much as he would need, especially without Jaskier there to shame the alderman, but better than it could be. He wasn’t exactly welcomed into the inn though, and when he told the innkeeper that they wouldn’t be staying in here, he smelt the relief on her. 

It was probably best that they hadn’t brought Akvamar into the village then, he doubted that it would work out for anyone. Who knew what Akvamar would think of him when he saw how much hatred was focused on him.

When Geralt had gotten back to where they were camped, he saw that Jaskier had started a fire, and had some of the extra broth they had stored in a canteen in the pot on the fire. 

“I have some oats,” he said as he walked out of the brush. 

Jaskier shrieked in surprise, almost falling off the log.

“Really Geralt?” Jaskier asked after he had sat back up properly. “Why do you keep doing this to me?” 

“Doing what?” He asked, as blankly as he could. 

Truthfully, he did it because it was hilarious seeing Jaskier’s reaction, and smelling the surprise without the usual fear coming after. 

It had started as a way to scare the bard away from the danger he carried with him when Jaskier had started to follow him, but now, it was just fun. Jaskier only reacted with dramatic annoyance, not actual fear or anger. It was a nice change.

“I know you do it on purpose!” Shouted Jaskier, gesturing wildly. “I know you, despite your denial!” 

Geralt rolled his eyes, and dumped some of the small sack in the pot. 

Jaskier harrumphed dramatically, crossing his arms. 

Akvamar had stopped flinching when they argued during the second day, probably realizing there was no hostility or anger in their scents, but now he looked… out of it. His scent was tinged in pain, likely a headache judging by the way his eyes were shut tight against the sunlight. 

“Got a contract, a small group of drowners,” he said as he sat down. 

“Nice and simple, hmm,” Jaskier said cheerily. “Pay decent? We’re going to need some more supplies if we’re going to be supporting someone else.” 

“Not exactly,” Geralt said grudgingly. “Didn’t have a bard around to shame them into making the offer better.” 

Geralt wished he could provide more for Jaskier, to make their contributions to their mostly shared purse at least equal.

“You can negotiate for yourself, you know,” Jaskier said, voice softer. “You don’t have to settle for that. I mean, sometimes they simply don’t have the means to pay you enough, and that’s fine, but you need enough money to survive at least!” 

“Survived fine before you,” Geralt grunted. “And besides, if I asked for more, there’s every chance that they wouldn’t pay me out of spite, or would drive me out of the village.” 

Jaskier slumped a bit, smelling sad and annoyed. “I wish that wasn’t the case,” he sighed.

Then he perked up slightly. “But maybe if I sing them some songs, sing about all your good deeds… it’s entirely possible that they haven’t heard of Witchers in any good way! Maybe I can be the one to influence them for good!” 

Geralt didn’t mention that they at least know his songs enough to call him the White Wolf, and were still at least wary of him, but he didn’t mention it to Jaskier.

He doesn’t want to make Jaskier slump in sadness like that again, it may be best he find that out for himself. 

“I can’t stop you,” he muttered. 

“Are you okay staying here on your own?” Jaskier asked Akvamar. “If I play some songs in the tavern, I can get us some more money while Geralt’s on his contract. You’d have to stay hidden, but you look tired, I’m sure you could use the rest.” 

Maybe it would help Akvamar actually sleep instead of just lying there all night, alert for anything. It was easy to tell that the rule about not sleeping was heavily driven into him, but maybe if they weren’t there to keep an eye on him, (to punish him if he did wrong, his brain interjected) he would succumb to his exhaustion and sleep. 

Akvamar hummed faintly in a way that meant yes, but not directly, just in case that was the wrong answer. 

Geralt would welcome the chance to kill some monsters and release some tension. With every new thing they found out about Akvamar, he only got angrier. 

“Why don’t we have some food,” Jaskier said, stirring the pot. “Then you can go off on your contract at full strength.” 

Geralt hummed in agreement and grabbed some dried meat and coarse bread as Jaskier spooned up some porridge for Akvamar, then sat down with his own portion of dried meat. 

Once he was done, Geralt prepared for the contract. Likely easy, but an unprepared Witcher was a dead Witcher, so he made sure to grab a Swallow just in case. 

“See you soon!” Jaskier said to Akvamar as they went down the road to the village.

+-+

The contract was easy, just as Geralt had expected, but it had been incredibly satisfying to imagine the drowners as the sorcerer who controlled Akvamar. 

The alderman gave him the coin, plus a little more, which was likely because of Jaskier, given how shamed he looked. 

Geralt even decided to get an ale at the tavern where Jaskier was playing, so they could go back to their camp together. 

It was nice watching him perform, see him completely in his element, practically glowing from the attention of the crowd. It made him happy to see Jaskier like this, despite the noise and smell of the tavern. And he was good at it too. 

Geralt would never tell him that of course, he had a big enough ego as it was, with so many commenting on how good his music was, using much nicer words than he ever could. With his luck, he would accidentally insult him, he could easily do that when irritated, and he would surely mess it up even further if he was actually trying. It was easier to purely comment on the accuracy of the songs. 

“Well?” Jaskier said, coming over to his secluded corner once several encores had been sung. “What did you think?” 

Geralt passed him an ale for his throat, hearing his voice rasping just slightly. 

“The villagers seemed to like it,” he grumbled. 

Jaskier rolled his eyes, likely used to him not saying anything about his singing. 

“We can head out once I’m done this. I’m sure Akvamar will like the chance to be alone, not have to worry about…” he waved his hand idly. “Everything really.” 

Geralt nodded. He wished he could get out of here, but Akvamar deserved some time to himself, and Jaskier always enjoyed the time spent in town. He could endure it for a while longer.

+-+

The walk back was nice, warm with the sun, but with a nice breeze at their backs to keep them cool. 

But as they got closer, Geralt began to get a bad feeling. He sniffed at the air, but could smell nothing off, which meant that whatever the cause of that bad feeling, it was likely for something in front of them, maybe at the camp. He walked slightly faster. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier said, walking faster alongside him. “What’s wrong?” 

“Don’t know,” he said, focusing his hearing on the camp, and hearing only the evidence of Akvamar there. “Just a bad feeling.” 

When they cleared the brush around the camp, Geralt could smell the overwhelming smell of vomit, mixed with an awful, brightly metallic scent. 

“Oh dear,” Jaskier said as he moved towards the prone figure of Akvamar, laying on a bedroll and shaking like a leaf, some vomit only a foot away from him. That had to be awful with his senses. 

“It must have been the porridge,” Jaskier said, kneeling beside him. 

“I don’t think so,” Geralt said as quiet as he could, watching as Akvamar flinched from every sound. 

“Have you ever seen anyone addicted to poppy when they can’t get anymore?” Geralt asked, wetting a cloth to wipe Akvamar’s face. 

“Yeah,” Jaskier said, smelling very sad. “Some of the students at Oxenfurt… well, classes were hard and stressful. Some of them needed that calm. But what does that have to do with Akvamar?” 

“I think the metal arm could give him something like poppy to keep him calm,” Geralt said, dabbing his face clean. “Keep him from fighting the spell. Twice a day, his arm would make a noise, and he’d get calm and quiet right after. Smelled like someone on poppy. And I think the metallic smell of after he can’t get anymore is something that humans can smell?” 

“Yeah,” Jaskier said softly as Geralt moved him away from the mess on the ground. “I’ve smelt it before. Do you think… how can I help?” 

“Probably has a headache,” Geralt murmured, watching his movements. “Sensitive to sound and probably miserable. Maybe achy and sensitive. I’ll go hunting so we can make some more broth for him.” 

“I’ll stay here,” Jaskier whispered, draping a wet cloth over his forehead. “Seems a little hot too.” 

Geralt headed off into the brush and set all of the snares he had with him. If they were going to be here for however long it would take for Akvamar to feel better, they would need quite a bit of broth. 

He had heard tell of a few small settlements near here, all with contracts for drowners due to some recent flooding, and if they were staying camped, and if Jaskier kept performing regularly, they should have enough to stay put for a week or two, as long as nothing went desperately wrong… He would probably have the time to stock up on ingredients for his potions as well, as long as he stayed within hearing range of Akvamar, and he had been needing to brew some potions to get his stock up again. He would likely have all the time he needed. 

As he walked back, he picked as many plants for soup as he could, zigzagging back and forth, and taking note of where other useful plants were so he could grab them later. 

Then, upwind from camp he heard a deer in the woods and he froze. It was an old buck, sleek and graceful, but definitely old enough that it would begin to get slower soon. It’s pelt was flawless, with quite a bit of muscle underneath. 

He didn’t usually go for deer when they weren’t looking to die soon, but if they were going to be here for a while… he would probably be able to get the hide to a tanner, and properly dry the meat too. 

He raised his crossbow slowly, aiming right for the heart so it would die quick and painless. He shot and hit, the deer jumping once in surprise before crumpling to the ground. It was dead when he got to it, a nice clean kill. He quickly field dressed it and pulled it over his shoulders to carry it back to camp. 

As he emerged from the brush, he saw Jaskier bent over Akvamar, using his impossibly careful fingers, calloused, but soft with care, to brush his hair away from his face. He was humming softly, something that made Geralt relax slightly, but only seemed to make Akvamar tense all the more. 

Geralt was used to Jaskier’s constant noise, and it was even relaxing most of the time, like birdsong, when it was gone, something was likely wrong. But Akvamar wasn’t used to it, and likely had a headache, which, if it was anything like the headache he got after he went toxic, would only increase his sensitivity to noise. 

He made a bush rustle, and set the deer down near the fire. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier said, eyes wide as he looked at the deer. 

“Shh,” Geralt said before he could say anything else, rummaging through his pack. What he was looking for would be at the bottom, he rarely used them. 

He finally pulled out the earplugs he used sometimes when his senses were going haywire, and he felt safe enough to let his senses be muffled. Jaskier had bought them for him, and was also the only person he had used them in the presence of. He knew that Jaskier would never let someone hurt him. He shook off the unnecessary thoughts.

He knelt next to where Akvamar was shaking on the ground, making tiny, pained sounds that no one else would likely be able to hear. 

“I’m going to put some earplugs in your ears,” he said softly. “I’ll need to touch your face to do that, is that okay?” 

Akvamar was silent for a while, then just as he was about to say it again, he nodded slowly. 

“Left ear first,” he murmured, gently turning his head and placing the plug in his ear. His face was hot, likely from a fever. 

“Right one next,” he murmured, quickly putting in the other one. 

He knew from experience how disorienting it was to have one ear muffled, and the other perfectly clear, especially with a headache. Akvamar blinked in surprise once they were both in, and even relaxed, if only slightly. He settled back on the bedroll with a sigh, eyelids fluttering shut. 

“That should help,” he said to Jaskier. 

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of that!” Jaskier said, shaking his head. “Can I even call myself a true companion of a Witcher if I can’t pick up on that? Especially with how often you get them!” 

“He hides it well,” Geralt said, looking at how Akvamar shivered. “And you know me well, and barely know him. Your music helps me, but if he is not used to it, it would not help him. I could only tell he was in pain because I could smell his misery. It is… I can not imagine he was encouraged to show weakness.” 

“No, I can’t,” Jaskier said, smelling so sad and angry. 

“But enough of that!” He said, full of forced cheer. “You brought back a deer!” 

“We have the time to properly butcher it. We can dry some meat, maybe even sell the hide to a tanner.” 

“Why don’t you get started,” Jaskier said. “I’ll get some firewood, maybe something else if I can find it.” 

“There’s a patch of wild onions to the west,” Geralt said, grabbing a waxed skin to sort the meat on. “Should be able to get some firewood there as well.” 

Jaskier moved into the woods, humming a tune. 

Once the meat was sorted and ready to be put in the pot, he turned to Akvamar. The scent of misery and sickness coming from him was stomach churning, only made worse by the scent of fear entwined with it. The fear scent had mostly disappeared once Akvamar had realized that their bickering meant nothing, but now… it was choking. It was likely because he was so vulnerable like this, relying on them to get him food, and being weak enough that anyone could kill him. 

Geralt would protect him for as long as he needed it. He would never let anyone else hurt him again. 

He sat down next to him, wanting to let him know that he was there, that he would always be there, but… he couldn’t find the words. He was never good with them, could never say what he meant or make his feelings known. 

Then Akvamar began to gag again, and Geralt turned him over and helped him sit up, so hopefully he could be even a little more comfortable. 

Once Akvamar was done, and had slumped limply against him, head resting on his chest, Geralt grabbed the cloth and wiped his mouth, handing him a canteen to rinse his mouth. 

Strands of oily, tangled hair were stuck in his mouth, and he pawed vaguely at them, but his hand was shaking, and he couldn’t get them. 

Geralt gently pulled them out and said, “will you be able to stay sitting up? I’d like to braid your hair so it won’t get in your mouth anymore.” 

Akvamar nodded weakly, pressing closer. 

“I’ll need to untangle your hair first,” he said, beginning to card through his hair. 

Akvamar nodded again, smelling less of fear with every second. 

It was easier to talk with Akvamar than anyone he had ever met, at least so soon after they met. It had taken years for Geralt to learn to trust Jaskier, even with words more than necessary. Jaskier had prompted him, been fascinated by the monster facts he knew, and even listened when he rambled on forever about monster behaviour and biology. 

But Akvamar… he was scared. He needed to know what was happening, who was going to touch him, and where and why, so he could feel safe. They had learned that quickly when every unannounced touch was met with violence, and then him trembling at their feet, waiting for punishment. 

Every time he did that, Geralt felt like  _ this  _ was the worst thing he had ever done, not terrifying children with his presence, not how he failed Dawes, not Blaviken, but making this terrified kid tremble at his feet in fear of punishment. 

Akvamar’s hair was tangled and incredibly brittle, slick with sweat and oil, but slowly, he began to make progress. 

Then Jaskier came through the brush with a pile of wood and kindling and looked at them, eyes wide. 

Geralt gestured for him to continue, and Jaskier began to put a soup together. He didn’t want to disturb Akvamar, whose scent of misery was receding, face pressed to his chest, curled up against him. 

He was likely aching, but if this could help any, he would be willing to do it for a long time. 

It was actually calming, slowly untangling each strand, the soft sounds of Akvamar’s breathing and heart slowing, the warm weight on top of him. It was incredible to know that he, a Witcher, something that most people would reek of fear to meet, was actually making Akvamar  _ calmer  _ by being near him. 

Jaskier was one thing, a reckless idiot who seemed to have no sense of self preservation, but Akvamar, someone who had such bad experiences with others, that still believed that they would punish him, was relaxing in his arms. 

He saw a few tears slipping down Akvamar’s cheeks, and remembered how wet his eyes had gotten when he had truly relaxed into one of Jaskier’s hugs for the first time. 

No wonder Jaskier had practically glowed when that had happened. And judging by the look Jaskier was giving him over the cooking pot, he was just as happy. 

But then the scent of misery began to swell again, and Geralt remembered that he had meant to actually do something. 

He gathered Akvamar’s hair in his hands in three strands, like he remembered Jaskier doing for him, but… he didn’t know what to do next. He may have a good memory, but it wasn’t like he had eyes in the back of his head. 

Jaskier hummed an odd note, and when Geralt looked up, he saw Jaskier holding his hands oddly, like he was holding… three strands of hair. Then he began to move his hands slowly, pulling his right hand towards the middle, then the left, and then the right again. 

Geralt tried to follow, but the middle strand fell out of his fingers the first few tries. The more he tried though, the easier it was, especially with Jaskier to follow. 

Apparently the nimbleness the Signs gave his fingers was useful for something peaceful after all. 

He tied off the end with a leather tie, and leaned back a bit to look at his creation. It was… a bit of a mess honestly, with strands coming out, and the sides uneven, but at least it would keep the hair out of his mouth? 

“Good job,” Jaskier whispered, then gave him two thumbs up and a goofy, beaming grin that made his heart pound. “You’ll get better with practice.” 

+-+

Over the next few days, they began to get the hang of living like this, and Geralt even unpacked properly, like he never did unless he was at Kaer Morhen. 

It was nice to start the day by re-braiding Akvamar’s hair, the braids getting better every time, which made him unreasonably proud. 

There were a few contracts within a reasonable distance, and the town liked Jaskier’s singing, so every day, they traded off who would go to get money. The other stayed with Akvamar to keep him safe, made sure he drank broth and water, and kept him company. 

Judging by Jaskier’s expressions, it wasn’t nearly as bad as the kinds that his classmates had suffered, but it was still awful to see Akvamar be barely able to keep down even broth, constantly make tiny sounds of pain, and shiver like crazy while sweating uncontrollably. 

And that wasn’t even mentioning the times when he was out of it, trapped in memories and crying out in ways that didn’t even come close to the blank statements he made while conscious. Sometimes he would cry out for someone named Steve to help him, begging someone else to stop, stop hurting him, please, he was being good! 

Jaskier would sing softly when he was there, lullabies Geralt rarely had the chance to hear, the words deep and rich and  _ soft.  _ It almost made up for not being able to hear Jaskier sing in the taverns. 

Jaskier simply glowed when he performed, smelling so sweetly of an exuberant happiness that Geralt could smell forever, face flushed with exertion, (and maybe that was how he looked when—) 

But the worst part happened when Akvamar was conscious, shivering with cold, and reeking of fear, but awake. 

“Why are you scared pup?” Geralt had asked softly, wanting to do something to at least help with the fear, even if he couldn’t help with anything else. 

“Punishment is necessary when the Asset is non-functional,” he had murmured. 

“That-that isn’t your fault,” Geralt had managed through the sudden,  _ burning  _ desire to get a hold of the sorcerer and simply strangle him. “You are sick, that isn’t your fault. The-the reason you’re sick in the first place is  _ because  _ of them and whatever they dosed you with.” 

“Doesn’t matter,” he had said faintly. “Order through pain.” 

“It doesn’t work like that,” Geralt had said, remembering overhearing the potions teacher in Kaer Morhen saying “if we don’t punish them like that, how do they  _ learn?” _ That teacher had been the strictest, the most likely to beat them bad enough to cause scarring if they made a mistake. He had terrified every single kid that went through his classes. Well, except for Lambert, the contrary bastard.

“ _ We  _ don’t work like that,” he had corrected. “You will never get punished like that by us. I promise.” 

Akvamar had just snuggled closer, the scent of fear slowly retreating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also note, I will be entering a bingo soon, and the main fic I’ll be writing for it is the sequel to this story, so I’ll probably start speeding up my posting of this story! I’ll likely post at least one more chapter this week, if not more, so keep an eye out!


	5. Purging, and the cleanup after

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the bathing chapter my friends. Minor warning for Bucky not feeling 100% comfortable with Jaskier bathing him, and agreeing to it anyway. Jaskier is very cautious, and nothing bad happens, but I wanted to warn just in case!
> 
> Fun fact; while researching this chapter, I found out that there are at least ten currencies in the Witcher universe, and one is solely used in the city of Oxenfurt! So if you’re wondering about the prices of things in this chapter... I probably researched way too much for this chapter.

**Location:Universe 9482438, Temeria, near the town of Greenrock**

**Date:November 1, 1499**

Jaskier hated seeing Akvamar so miserable. It was awful seeing him barely able to get up, limbs shaking so badly. He often ended up throwing up near his own bedroll, and Geralt (sweetheart that he was) usually ended up moving him, bedroll and all, somewhere else. Jaskier could only imagine how bad that smell would be with enhanced senses. 

In some ways though, it was nice. They actually stayed in one place for more than a night or two, Geralt actually fully unpacked his bag, and they settled in. 

It actually gave Jaskier hope that he could convince Geralt to take a vacation to the coast eventually. This proved that Geralt  _ could  _ actually take a break of a sort and not immediately die, like Geralt seemed to think would happen with how much he moved. 

Geralt had casually mentioned once that there weren’t nearly as many monsters at the coast, and with Jaskier’s own wish to go there, if only to see what Aileen, his nursemaid had described to him, it was definitely the best place to take a vacation. 

Of course, she had been wrong about the golden palaces of the elves, but… he couldn’t exactly blame her for not wanting him to hear the awful truth. 

It was adorable to watch Geralt braid Akvamar’s hair, the two of them close and cuddly, Geralt focusing so hard on making a proper braid. 

It was an absolute treat to watch two badass Witchers, muscly and usually wearing black armour, instead wearing soft, loose shirts and pants, (still black, but at least it was more comfortable) snuggling close together. 

In any other case, Jaskier would be jealous of Geralt being so close to someone else, (okay, maybe he was a little jealous) but, it was perfectly clear that Geralt was more… protective, and maybe even fatherly towards him, not interested in him in the least. 

Geralt even called Akvamar pup, protective and affectionate all in one. Geralt had told him that the Witchers in training were called pups when they had gone through the trials, but hadn’t earned their medallions yet. ‘They aren’t human children anymore,” Geralt had said. “But they aren’t Witchers yet either, so we use the word pup.’

He had the sudden image of Geralt brushing Cirilla’s hair like he did Akvamar’s, and had to suppress a sigh at the adorable image. With Cirilla’s long, pale blonde hair, she would look like she was Geralt’s legitimate daughter. 

He had visited Cintra a few times during the winters since the betrothal feast, determined to at least keep an eye on her, to make sure she was safe for Geralt. Last he had seen her was almost two years ago, when she was a precocious child of almost five, just before her parents died. 

(Jaskier was pretty sure that the news of her parents death was what had caused Geralt's bout of sleeplessness that had led to the Djinn incident) 

He had no clue how Geralt could think of himself as a bad caretaker, just seeing him with kids was enough to know how good he was! 

He was always so careful to not frighten them, would let them touch his hair and armour, always answer their questions. And sometimes… sometimes he would have this  _ look  _ on his face, one full of wistfulness and longing, like he was missing something he had never had.

Jaskier had no idea why Geralt would be so dramatically opposed to even visiting Ciri.

But the major advantage to them being in one place, where there were only two bedrolls, and Akvamar had one of them, was that Jaskier got to sleep with Geralt. 

Having Geralt wrapped around him was the best way to sleep, with Jaskier being wrapped around Geralt, sometimes being in first place, depending on the circumstance. The warmth and weight of Geralt curled around him was perfect, like the very essence of safety. Of course, sometimes he got… a little too comfortable, but Geralt was understanding, and never seemed to realize that it happened partially because Jaskier was  _ very  _ attracted to him. Well, more like in love with him, but it wouldn’t happen either way. 

And when he woke up with Geralt draped over him, snuggled close, with his face buried in Jaskier’s neck like now… this was much better luxury than anything found in a castle or brothel, and more than adequate to keep him from pining  _ too  _ hard. 

He was still dozy with sleep, the sky dark, so he decided that he could sleep a while longer—Until Geralt started to shift. 

He moved impossibly slowly, trying to sneak off of Jaskier without waking him most likely. He decided to let Geralt try it, then maybe surprise him once he thought he was safe. Geralt crept over to Roach, presumably to talk to her, but when Jaskier heard the jingle of tack being put on, he sat up quickly. 

“Geralt,” he hissed, making the man jump in surprise. “Get back in bed with me right now.” 

“I’m just—“ he murmured, but Jaskier knew better. Akvamar was getting better, so that meant Geralt had more time to overthink this whole thing. 

“You’re running away,” he hissed. “Now put that tack down and come back here  _ right now.”  _

Geralt didn’t usually follow anything Jaskier said, but he must be feeling guilty enough that he set the tack down and headed back. Geralt reluctantly settled back in Jaskier’s arms, basically hiding his face in Jaskier’s chest. 

Good thing, maybe this way he could actually keep a hold of Geralt so he wouldn’t just run away from this conversation. 

“Why did you decide to run?” He whispered, a little softer than before. 

“It’s not—“ he managed, “I can’t—I can’t be what Akvamar deserves. He deserves—no, he  _ needs  _ someone who can give him softness, comfort, safety, and stability. I can’t ever give him that. He’s dependent on us—on me, and we can’t even stay here for much longer. We may be saving up some money, but Roach needs to be re-shod. We need to move on soon to find a blacksmith willing to do it, and I have no clue if Akvamar will be ready to travel at that point. And… he will be in danger if he travels with me, he doesn’t look like a Witcher so he could travel alone easily without anyone being the wiser. Being known to travel with a Witcher makes him a target. He only stays with me because he doesn’t know any better.” 

“That is the biggest sack of bullshit I’ve ever heard,” Jaskier said wonderingly. 

“But—“ Geralt started, but Jaskier shushed him. 

“Be quiet. I gave you a chance to talk, now give me a chance to talk.” Geralt slumped against him in defeat and nodded. 

“For one, all of those things about not being able to give him stability, being always on the move, being in danger… that applies to me too. While I may be able to get myself into courts for the winter, it is definitely not on demand, and highly unlikely that they would allow me to bring someone else. I have a lot of enemies as well. You say it like everything is only because of you, but that’s both of us.”

“And as for softness… you are absolutely delusional, that is the only explanation. I’ve seen you with him, seen you braid his hair every morning so it doesn’t get in the way, seen him  _ seeking you out for cuddles.  _ He’s still a bit wary of me, but you? He trusts you. You may not have much practice with being soft, but that only makes it more incredible that you can be soft like that.”

“Dear heart, you are an incredible person.” 

Jaskier could feel his shirt getting wet under Geralt’s face, and teared up himself. Just knowing that Geralt felt safe enough around him to express that kind of emotion was both incredibly gratifying and humbling at the same time. 

“You had a nightmare didn’t you,” he said softly, putting the pieces together. “Oh dear heart.” He impulsively kissed Geralt’s forehead. 

Geralt nodded and murmured, “not talking about it.” 

“Fair enough. You have talked about your emotions enough tonight, I’ll let it go for now.” 

Geralt grumbled at the mention of emotions (like it wasn’t clear that he had them!) but settled down again.

+-+

Luckily, only a day later, Akvamar began to truly recover. He was still shaky, and far too thin and pale, but Geralt said that the scent of sickness was gone, and the earplugs were finally taken out with little effect. 

He could  _ see  _ Geralt worrying about Roach’s need for shoes, so he suggested that Akvamar ride Roach so they could get going now. That way, they could at least make a little bit of progress while they had no need to buy food, which would cut into the amount needed for re-shoeing Roach. 

Geralt had brought down two deer over their time in the clearing, and they still had some jerky, as well as some ripe vegetables they had found, much more common in the autumn. They had quite a lot of food, but with how hungry Akvamar had been, on top of Geralt’s more than human hunger, it would deplete quickly.

Akvamar seemed okay with the idea of moving on, but he stalled when it came to actually mounting Roach. It made sense of course, if he had no clue how to even approach a horse, he had likely never ridden one before. 

He was incredibly cautious around Roach, (which was a reasonable thing, Jaskier had been head butted and bitten by her many times in the beginning) but was unfortunate in the current situation. 

Eventually he was coaxed onto her, but the sudden change in elevation seemed to make him dizzy, and he slumped over her neck. 

“Well, at least it’ll be easier to hang on like that,” Jaskier said, putting his hands on his hips. “Would you like a cushion so you don’t have to be punched in the stomach with the pommel every time she takes a step?” 

Akvamar nodded weakly, and they got set up to walk. 

They moved much slower than they usually did, but it was nice to stretch his legs properly again. The walk to the village so he could play in the tavern was short, nothing like the distances he walked on a regular basis while travelling with Geralt.

+-+

Luckily, they found a bigger village before the sun began to set. It had a nice inn, a good blacksmith, and even a minor contract for Geralt to fulfill! 

Before they had gone in, they had made sure Akvamar was wearing gloves, so that no one would see such a distinctive thing as an arm made of metal that actually moved. They didn’t want to alert whatever mage had him before, because they were likely searching for such a valuable “Asset” as Akvamar. 

They put Roach in the stable attached to the inn and helped Akvamar down. He was still shaky and pale, but the canteen filled with broth was gone, which seemed to have done wonders. 

He gently patted Roach’s nose, and she lipped indulgently at his fingers. 

“Come on,” Jaskier said, “and let me do the talking.” 

Akvamar and Geralt followed him into the inn proper, and he headed straight for the innkeeper. The innkeeper, a nice old woman, looked a little surprised, but otherwise unfazed by having a Witcher in her inn, which was always a good sign. 

“Hello! I was wondering if you might have a room to spare my good lady?” 

“I do have a few,” she said. “Is the man in the back with you two? Do you need two rooms?” 

“One room is perfectly fine as long as there are two beds,” Jaskier said, smiling brightly at her. 

“I do have one,” she said. “But the room is 450 orens a night.” 

“I was wondering if I could sing in the tavern for a night or two in exchange for lowering the price?” Jaskier asked. “I do tend to draw a bit of a crowd, and my Witcher’s horse needs re-shod, so we could use any extra money we can get. I’d rather not have to go without ale!” 

She thought for a bit, then said, “fine. How long will you be staying?” 

“Tonight and tomorrow,” Jaskier said. “Possibly more if the contract takes longer.” 

“Then perform both nights and I can take it down to 700 orens for both nights.” 

“But—“ she said, before Jaskier could thank her for the generous discount. “Will either of them cause any damage? The Witcher seems to be the White Wolf from your songs, but that doesn’t mean something won’t happen. And what of the man behind you? He looks like a mercenary, and they tend to be trouble.” 

“Oh no trouble I assure you,” Jaskier said. “The worst damage my dear Witcher will do is drip monster guts on the floor and dye it darker.” 

“No trouble then,” she said, “but what about that man?” 

“His name is Akvamar, and we recently rescued him from a horde of bandits. He unfortunately was just horribly sick, though luckily not with the plague. I can personally assure you that he has no intent to cause trouble.” 

“Well that’s alright then,” she said pleasantly. “Would you like anything else?” 

“A meal and ale for all of us,” Jaskier said. “Soup if you have it. And a bath delivered to our room? I’d like to wash off the road dust before I perform for the masses!” 

“It won’t exactly be the masses,” she said wryly. “We aren’t the biggest village around. It will be 775 orens for everything you’ve asked for.” 

“Here you go!” He said, handing over the money, glad that everything was turning out well so far. Luckily, they had been travelling through Temaria for a while, so most of their money was in orens, so they didn’t have to fiddle with exchanging them.

She handed him the key, and he immediately led them up the stairs to their room. 

“Will… you two be sharing a bed again?” Akvamar asked cautiously, hiding his face behind his hair. 

“Unless Geralt has any reservations,” Jaskier said, opening his pack to grab his performing clothes and bath supplies. 

“You go first so your hair can dry,” Geralt said. “And then me. We’ve both bathed recently, if only in the stream.” 

“Very correct,” Jaskier said, fiddling with the bottles of oils. “And Akvamar, if you wouldn’t mind, I would like to bathe you, make sure you’re all clean and smelling nice. I know  _ I  _ love the first proper bath after being sick.” 

“Affirmative,” he said dully, a word Jaskier was beginning to hate. Akvamar only seemed to use it when he thought he didn’t have the choice to say no, and didn’t want it. Jaskier turned around, and saw the dullness in his eyes, and the look on Geralt’s face that said he didn’t smell anything good. 

“I will be going before you,” Geralt said. “Jaskier will be doing the exact same things he does on me to you unless you disagree.” 

“If you don’t want me to do anything, just say,” Jaskier said, trying not to think of why Jaskier helping him with a bath would produce such dread, it was either a fear of water, or… something much worse. 

“I will not do anything you ask me not to do. I do have to ask though, is it safe to have the metal arm in water?” 

“Not advised to submerge it for long,” he said stiffly. “But it will not begin to malfunction if splashed.” 

“I can work with that,” Jaskier said, hearing a knock on the door. 

He opened up the door to see two young boys carrying buckets, and the innkeeper with a large wooden tub. 

“Come in!” He gestured, waving them towards the fire. 

The tub was set down and begun to be filled, the boys coming in and out with the buckets. Nice and hot too, they probably had a pot of water already near the fire for that kind of speed. 

“And here are your meals,” the innkeeper said once the tub was filled, placing three bowls on the small table. “Soup tonight, as well as some bread.” 

“Many thanks to you my good lady! I assure you, once me and my companions are done bathing and eating, I will come down to perform for you!” 

“I will be waiting,” she said, dipping her head with a mischievous grin. “I may send my granddaughter out to play, she is  _ quite  _ the fan of you and is likely to spread the rumour that you are here.” 

“Smart business practice!” Jaskier laughed, always surprised by the endless creativity and cunning of humans. 

“All the better to get more money for the both of us!” She said with a wink as he closed the door behind her. 

“Now!” He said, pulling off his travelling clothes. “I will take a quick bath while you two settle in, then you’re next Geralt.” 

Geralt hummed and Jaskier settled into the tub. He may be able to bathe in cold streams, but it was much nicer to sit in warm, clean water, without the dangers of currents and drowners to worry about. He couldn’t stand to be  _ in  _ the water for too long, that way lay boredom, and wrinkled skin that he wouldn’t be able to play his lute properly with, but it was nice to have. 

Baths had been much easier to have when he was younger, when he didn’t have to worry about wrinkled skin, and he had Aileen to bathe him, to care for him and tell him stories so he wouldn’t get too bored in the tub. He got into a lot of trouble when he was a kid, so he had needed a lot of baths, and she was the only one that hadn’t given up on bathing him in frustration. (Which, thinking of that, her ability to keep him distracted was probably the only reason his parents hadn’t gotten rid of her completely after they got what they needed from her, because she was the only one that could control him even a little bit, which had overridden their fears that she would tell him the truth.) 

Once he had finished cleaning himself properly, he dressed and tidied himself up as Geralt got undressed. 

“Get in the water before it cools,” he said absently as he grabbed his shirt. 

Geralt sighed as he sank into the water (Jaskier couldn’t help but admire him from the corner of his eye,  _ Melitile _ Geralt was stunning) 

The bath wasn’t Geralt’s normal preference of boiling hot, but generally, he wasn’t one to waste energy on Igni for a bath that was still hot, especially when he wasn’t just off of a contract. 

As Jaskier sat behind Geralt’s head, he noticed that Akvamar was watching them from behind his hair. He was carefully not directly watching him, but he looked like Geralt did when he was focusing on tracking something, every ounce of his attention focused on gathering information. 

Geralt nodded slightly, an indication that he was fine with that. 

Jaskier started washing him, and started rambling about everything and nothing, like he tended to do when giving Geralt a bath. (He had to distract himself, or he would likely do or say something he would regret) 

He started with his hair, getting Geralt to dunk himself and get his hair wet, then working soap through it with his hands, carefully working it through every strand of hair. 

He loved making Geralt relax like this, his eyes going half lidded, and his breathing getting slower as he slumped into the warm water in the tub. 

“Rinse,” he murmured, scooping some water from the tub with a bowl, then carefully poured it over Geralt's head. 

Geralt hummed softly, and Jaskier ruffled his hair and grabbed the oils. This was his favorite part, making Geralt’s hair slick and soft, like silk threads in his hands. 

He drizzled the oils over the top of his head and began to rub it in. He pulled the oil through Geralt’s hair, gently tugging his head from side to side, his head lolling on his neck, eyes shut. 

Then he hummed softly and began to purr, low and rumbling, like how Jaskier imagined a lion would purr. This was part of why he loved oiling Geralt’s hair so much, because by then, he was usually relaxed enough to start up the soft rumble of a purr, properly luxuriating in the bath. 

All he could focus on was the light of the sunset coming in the windows and painting Geralt in stunning colours, illuminating every scar and dip of muscle, making him glow like a lounging god. 

“Body,” he murmured faintly, afraid to break the near silence or Geralt’s purring. 

He reluctantly let go of the silk of his hair, silver-white like the sheen of a princesses’ white silk wedding dress, and grabbed the cloth to scrub his body with. 

Was this worship? He asked himself as he carefully cleaned Geralt’s skin of sweat and dust, rubbing small circles on his skin as he lounged in the tub, the faintest pink on his cheeks only highlighting the glow spilling over his skin. 

If this was worship, if Geralt was a god, he would gladly spend the rest of his long life doing this. 

Geralt shifted slightly, making his muscles ripple under his skin, only emphasizing the laxness of his position. 

When Jaskier made it to his broad chest, he paused for a moment to feel the deep vibration of his purring, and underneath it, the impossibly slow, steady thump of his heart. 

Geralt's eyes fluttered open and he grumbled absently. “I’m clean,” he rumbled, voice slurring just slightly, his purring stuttering to a stop. “Let me out of the tub.” 

His voice was slightly too tense for what they had been doing, and he looked towards where… Akvamar had been sitting. 

Jaskier couldn’t help the blush racing up his cheeks, embarrassed that someone else had witnessed his flagrant devotion towards Geralt. 

Akvamar had scooted back a bit, his hands covering his face, and his ears bright red. “Sorry,” he muttered into his hands, sounding more human than Jaskier had ever heard him. 

“You have… nothing to be sorry for,” Jaskier managed, seeing Geralt’s face pinker than he had ever seen it. 

“We’re… just used to being in our room alone. Sorry if we made you feel uncomfortable.” 

“You didn’t,” Akvamar said softly, pulling his hands from his bright red face. 

He looked like he was about to say something else, then snapped his mouth shut. 

Geralt got out of the tub with a splash and grabbed the cloth they used for drying, grumbling the whole time. 

“Now your turn!” Jaskier said quickly, trying to distract himself from the stunning image of Geralt towelling himself off, drops of water clinging to his muscles—he deliberately turned his head towards Akvamar in order to distract himself. 

“Again, if you don’t feel comfortable with me doing something, just make sure I know so I don’t do it. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable with us.” 

Akvamar slowly began to take his clothes off, body stiff with what looked like fear, and Jaskier quickly turned his gaze towards his oils, absently sorting through them as he waited for Akvamar to get in the water. Then the rustling of clothes stopped, and there was no sound of him getting in the water, so Jaskier peeked at Akvamar from under his eyelashes. 

He couldn’t help but gasp at the scars on his body. Geralt had many scars, many of them ragged and painful looking, but Akvamar’s scars… they were awful in a whole other way. His back was covered in long, straight scars that Geralt had some of too, had said they were whipping scars, from villagers that whipped his back until it broke open and bled. Akvamar had many more of them than Geralt. 

Then there were the awful scars that came from where the metal arm met flesh, spreading out onto his pectoral, looking raw and burned and inflamed, like a wound not treated right. It puckered oddly where it met the metal, like it was trying to grow around it. There were a couple more scars on his body, more like the ones Geralt had from monsters, yet not nearly as many, or as heavily overlapped. 

But the worst was the clean cuts, precisely spaced. Jaskier knew how Geralt healed, knew that small cuts like those would heal easily and clean, like he had never been cut. Those cuts would need to be made over and over to scar, maybe to test his healing—Akvamar made a soft noise and Jaskier jerked his eyes away from Akvamar’s body and looked at Geralt, who looked a little shocked as well. 

‘Permission,’ Geralt mouthed, and Jaskier realized that could be why Akvamar hadn’t moved into the tub. He had told Geralt to get into the tub, but not Akvamar. 

“You can get in the tub,” he said, feeling ashamed at how he had been staring at his scars like he had never seen scars before. 

Akvamar edged closer to the water, then stuck his hand in. 

“It’s warm,” he said in surprise, looking up at Jaskier. “Is that-do I have to wait for it to get cold before getting in?” 

Jaskier could feel the tears in his eyes at this one more awful thing, that he had cold baths for so long that he didn’t even think warm baths were an option. 

“Here,” Geralt said, walking up to the bath, now clothed and with a determined look on his face. 

“Igni,” he muttered, lighting up the bath with a gout of fire, bigger than he had ever seen it get when warming up a bath, and making the surface steam. 

“Now it’s ready,” Geralt said, going back to his bag. 

Jaskier wiped away the tears in his eyes, and looked at Akvamar, who’s eyes were wide in wonder. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, getting in the tub slowly. 

“Hair first!” Jaskier said cheerily, determined to make Akvamar love this. “If you will duck your head in the water, I will soap up your hair.” 

His hair was thick with sweat and oil, grimy and awful, but the soap he used was tough, often used on Geralt after a particularly dirty fight, so he knew it would get clean eventually. 

He began to work the soap in as he chattered absently about his next song, scrubbing gently. It took several passes of soap and water, but the grime eventually loosened and fell away, clouding the water. 

Akvamar was slowly relaxing, which made Jaskier proud. 

Jaskier patted his shoulders when he was done, but Akvamar jerked away from him in fear, making some water slosh over the side of the tub. 

His body was so dirty, coated in layers of sweat, but if he was so averse to touch… 

“Do you want to clean your body yourself?” Jaskier asked. “It’s perfectly fine if you want to. You can just call me over when you’re done.” 

“Do it,” he said roughly, in the same tone that Geralt used when he wouldn’t be swayed on a decision. 

If he asked if he was sure, it would only sow doubt in his own decisions, make him angry. Whatever the reason he had, he chose this, Jaskier could only do his best to make it as non-awful as he could. 

He lathered up a cloth, and started with his shoulders. 

Akvamar was tense at first, body stiff, likely in anticipation of pain, but slowly, incredibly slowly, he began to relax into the hot water. 

Jaskier made sure to keep the cloth on his skin, so he would always know where it was, and the other hand played lightly with his hair. Eventually all the grime was gone, and Jaskier put the cloth on the side of the tub, making Akvamar relax even more. 

“And now for your hair again!” Jaskier said cheerily, grabbing the right bottle. “This way, your hair will be nice and soft when we’re done.” 

He hummed softly as Jaskier drizzled the oil over his head, relaxing more. His hair was rough and brittle, but not quite as bad as Geralt’s when they met, which was nice. 

When his hair was softer from the oil, he began gently rubbing at his scalp, like he would if Geralt was extra stressed and in need of some more relaxation. It was so nice to have him relax into his hands, pushing into his hands just slightly, hardly noticeable. 

Then he made an odd rasping noise, and a faint purr rose into the air, rasping and breaking, but unmistakably a purr. 

It was coming from Akvamar, he realized when he looked at Geralt and saw him as surprised as he was. 

He could feel tears rising to his eyes again, shocked by the trust put in him. Akvamar was so  _ brave,  _ trusting him—trusting him and Geralt—with his vulnerability, his soft spots. It had taken years for Geralt to trust him enough to let himself purr, and now, following Geralt’s example, Akvamar was trusting them with this—this wonder. 

How was it possible that someone could be this brave? 

It was something he had often wondered when Geralt had first begun to trust him, and now he was feeling it again. What had he done in a past life that could ever make him deserve such a bounty of riches? 

He could feel tears dripping down his cheeks, and he sniffled in an attempt to stop his dripping nose. 

“You’re crying,” Akvamar said quietly, slowly moving away from Jaskier’s hands. 

“I am,” he said, taking the opportunity to wipe his eyes on the handkerchief handed to him by Geralt. “It’s because I’m happy. It’s just…” he trailed off, grasping for words in a way he usually didn’t. “I’m just happy.” 

Akvamar blinked at him in confusion, and he waved him away. 

“Leave it,” Geralt said softly. “He cries a lot. Now why don’t you get dressed so we can watch him perform.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, at the moment, I will be posting a chapter three times a week for this story, on Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday! I also completely finished editing this entire entire story (which is now 71k in total) and I hope you enjoy!


	6. Far too familiar, yet very wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, warnings for Bucky in Winter Soldier mode, minor character death (of a massive jerk), hatred of Witchers, and Jaskier being threatened by Valdo, mostly threats of “outing” but not outing of him liking guys

**Location:Universe 9482438, Redania, near Oxenfurt**

**Date:November 5, 1499**

Akvamar was… confused. This whole trip was confusing, with how little technology there was here, the landscape full of tiny villages, not bustling cities, and the fact that Geralt had made fire come from his hands like magic. 

But the Asset was made to adapt to changing circumstances to do its mission at any cost, so that part was of no concern. The most confusing part was his handlers. 

They had given him a name, called him by it like he was a person, talked to him like he was one of them, like he was normal. They asked him questions about his well being, and seemed disappointed when he responded as he was supposed to. 

They never hit him, not once, even when he had hurt them first. They announced their intentions to touch him, and every touch was soft and almost… affectionate, almost like how they touched each other. 

Geralt combed and braided his hair every morning now, hands soft in a way other than their texture, with no tugging at all. 

And the bath Jaskier had given him… the water, hot, not cold, washing over his skin, Jaskier’s soft hands touching him all over, soft and caring, warning him every time he touched him anew, how he rubbed oils into his hair and made it soft and silky, the rumbling that had started in his chest… That time, tucked into a warm room with only them had been incredible in a way he couldn’t describe. 

Even Jaskier crying was good, purely because of the clear, pure scent of happiness radiating off of him. 

And how differently Jaskier had bathed Geralt from him, despite the same actions happening… it had stirred something up. It sparked images of a small body in a tub, the action of washing that body with the same reverence that Jaskier had shown Geralt, cleaning messy blond hair, wiping sick sweat from a bird-like chest. 

They were just malfunctions though, if weird ones, they weren’t important. 

~~ They couldn’t be allowed to be important. ~~

Malfunctions and mistakes happened more often now. Before the sickness, it had been like being in a fog, where orders were the only clear things, easy to follow and ignore everything else, but now… he had questions. 

Geralt and Jaskier talked about his programming like it was an evil spell to break, like a fairytale, and… there were things here that he was pretty sure didn’t exist where Hydra had him. 

Once the fog had cleared, he had very cautiously started asking questions, and both of them were happy to answer all of them. 

The many glass bottles full of liquids of all colors in Geralt’s pack were called potions, and Jaskier said that if a human drank them, they would die. They weren’t sure whether Akvamar would be able to drink them, as he apparently smelled different from any Witcher Geralt had ever met, and likely had different abilities. 

Apparently Witchers were monster hunters, ones that had abilities no man could match. He had never heard of most of the monsters Geralt mentioned, which both Geralt and Jaskier were surprised by, but said that it was likely because his memories were wiped. 

They were sitting by the fire, relaxing as the porridge that Akvamar had moved onto instead of broth cooked over the fire. He had seen Geralt light it with a flash of fire from his hands, and he desperately wanted to ask about it, the most visible sign that something was different here than where he came from. 

It was always hard to gather up the strength to ask a question though, he couldn’t help but wonder if this would be the time when he would annoy them enough with his questions that they would punish him finally. It was irrational though, every time he submitted himself for punishment, he could smell the sadness and horror that came from them, like them punishing him was the worst thing they could imagine. 

“Geralt,” he managed, drawing his attention. “What is… that thing you do to make fire?” 

“That’s a Sign,” Geralt said. “It’s a kind of magic that Witchers can do that’s a combination of a word and a finger position. Like this,” he said, making a symbol with his fingers and saying “Igni” softly, making a small flame appear. 

“Oh,” he said softly. “But that’s… it can’t be that easy. There has to be something else.” 

“Nothing else,” Geralt said easily. “Every Witcher can at least do the signs, even if it’s exhausting.” 

“That’s not…” he said, searching for the words. “You can’t just make fire with magic, that doesn’t make sense.” 

“Well that’s how it works,” Geralt said. “I don’t know what makes it work, it just does.” 

It just didn’t make sense, there had to be a logical explanation, but maybe Geralt just didn’t know it. But if they were going to see an expert in magic… maybe they would know the scientific explanation. 

“I can try and teach you how to do it if you’d like,” Geralt said. “I’m not sure if you will be able to, given your differences from normal Witchers, but we can at least try.” 

“Okay,” he said, sitting next to Akvamar and showing his right hand, spread wide, with the index finger bent. “Just copy my hand position.” 

Akvamar carefully bent his fingers in the right position, trying to get it right.

“Almost. I’ll just adjust it for you,” Geralt said, gently putting his hands on Akvamar’s. “Once you get good at it, you can do it with even a sloppy hand movement, but when you start, the hand shape has to be perfect.” 

“Perfect,” he said, pulling his hands back. It sent a flush of pride through him.

“Now say Igni, and focus on making it happen. It’s like… pulling the energy from yourself. It may take a few tries.” 

Akvamar took a deep breath, focusing every bit of concentration on his body, like he did when shooting a tricky shot, every breath and movement controlled. 

“Igni,” he murmured, focusing on the idea of a spark.

“Nothing,” Geralt murmured, “but it doesn’t always happen the first time.” 

He tried ten times, but there was not even a spark, or a rise of temperature in the air.

“That’s odd,” Geralt said, looking confused. “I’ve never heard of any Witcher that couldn’t even make a spark after five tries. The Trials make it so  _ anyone  _ has enough Chaos in them to use the Signs, but I guess if your Trials were different…”

That didn’t feel right. Even the idea of being able to use this magic felt wrong, just like this entire world felt wrong. It felt like he had been transported not just through space, but in some other way as well. It was unnerving, like not knowing the rules of a new handler. What else would be different here?

“You can try some more if you’d like,” Geralt said. “But I don’t think you’d be able to do it if you haven’t already.”

Akvamar nodded, though he had the feeling that those words would only encourage… someone else. Maybe one of his past handlers?

“We’ll be going into Oxenfurt tomorrow to find Yennefer,” Geralt said, changing the subject awkwardly. “It can be… pretty loud and overwhelming. If you need the earplugs, just ask me for them.” 

He nodded, and they all prepared to sleep for the night.

+-+

The next morning, before they woke up, Geralt had apparently realized that Yennefer had just travelled away from Oxenfurt. They decided to go into the city anyway, if only to look for contracts and buy some supplies.

As they rode up the hill that led to the bridge to the city, Akvamar braced himself for the worst, a big, loud, bustling city full of people and noise. 

Instead, when they crested the hill, he saw… nothing like anything he had expected. Lots of buildings on the island, lots of people and animals of course, and the sounds of shouting and laughter and animals, the bustle of a market that could even be heard from here, but there were no trains or cars, no jackhammers or large machines, and it wasn’t even half as big or as packed as most proper cities he had seen. There were no skyscrapers, just buildings a few stories tall, and a large, castle-like structure with stone walls on an island to the side. 

This would be easy. 

They stopped at the notice board first, Geralt checking out a few things, then coming back to them. 

Akvamar fought the desperate urge to hide when he could feel the weight of people’s gazes on him, knowing that he needed to stay hidden and unsuspicious. 

“Got a contract,” Geralt said as they moved towards the centre of town, where the streets were busier. “A lower vampire near an abandoned stone church, probably a Fleder. Since I know it’s hunting ground it shouldn’t take too long.” 

“Vampire?” Akvamar asked, incredibly confused. “Like, fangs, drinks blood, burns in sunlight, turns into a bat, vampire?” 

“Not really,” Geralt said, grabbing some potions. “Vampire is a classification, not a species name, it’s for any creature who drinks blood. There’s two kinds of vampire, higher and lower. Higher is more humanoid and intelligent, and lower is more animalistic. They all have different traits, only a few species burn in sunlight, that kind of thing.” 

“But,” Akvamar said, hearing his own voice ring in his ears, saying ‘Vampires aren’t real Becca, they’re just in scary stories! Jane was just trying to scare you.’ 

“Vampires aren’t real. They only exist in stories.” 

Geralt looked at him weirdly, and Akvamar realized that he had contradicted his handler and flinched, heart rate going up. 

“I have no idea where you got that information from,” Geralt said calmly. “And I’m not going to punish you for contradicting me, but I have fought them so many times that I’ve lost count. Maybe before you got your memories wiped, you lived somewhere that didn’t have them?” 

“Maybe,” he said quietly, even though he didn’t feel like that was the truth. 

“Either way,” Geralt said, “we need some supplies. Jaskier, you and Akvamar should stay behind. Akvamar… keep a close eye on Jaskier so maybe he’ll get into less trouble. Or at least have help getting out of it.” 

It felt like those words made him vibrate like one of Jaskier’s tuning forks, an echo in his head replacing the names with Bucky and Steve, said in a woman’s voice, a hint of perfume in the air—and then the malfunction—it had to be one, what else could it be?—disappeared when Jaskier sputtered dramatically. 

“I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself thank you very much!” He said, poking Geralt in the chest. 

“You have been chased out of towns several times because you stuck your sausage in the wrong pantry,” Geralt said, raising an eyebrow. “And that’s only the ones I’ve been there for. And then there’s the amount of bar fights you get into, most over insults to me that I’ve heard hundreds of times before. You just can’t stay out of trouble.” 

“You aren’t wrong,” Jaskier said sheepishly. “But I also got out of all those issues perfectly fine!” 

“If you call all those injuries you’ve gotten as perfectly fine, then your definition of it is incredibly skewed,” Geralt said calmly. 

“And I,” Jaskier said, pointing dramatically. “Got that from you, who would likely say that you were fine while your guts were outside your body!” 

The throng around them was starting to get unnerved, skirting them nervously, moving just a little quicker. Drawing attention was  _ not  _ good, and Akvamar had the urge to melt into the crowd, be safe in anonymity. 

“I wouldn’t say that,” Geralt said. “I’m not nearly as dramatic as you, who is dramatic even for a bard.” 

“Me?!” Jaskier said, leaning back, and only then seeming to notice the worried crowd. 

His eyes widened slightly, and he modulated his tone slightly. “Okay, I guess you are right about some things, but that doesn’t mean I was wrong about you!” 

Then he whispered, too quiet for the crowd to hear, “we can do this later.” 

“You… aren’t wrong,” Geralt said grudgingly, looking at the crowd around them subtly. Then he guided them into an alley. 

This was clearly a long running fight, one fought over and over until they could know exactly how the fight would play out before they even started. They were far more annoyed than frustrated. 

He heard words echoing through his head, drowning out Geralt and Jaskier talking. ‘This isn’t some back alley, Steve. It’s a war. Why are you so keen to fight? There’re lots of other important jobs-,’ ‘You want me to sit in a factory? Collect scrap metal in my little red wagon while the men are laying down their lives? I can do as well as them and I got no right to do any less. That’s the thing you don’t get, Bucky. It’s not about me.’ ‘Right. ‘Cause you’ve got nothing to prove.’ The panicky urge of, ‘protect him. Protect him. Keep him home where he’s safe,’ echoed through his head. 

“Protect him,” Geralt ordered. 

Yes, that was his mission, to protect  ~~Jaskier The Mission~~ Steve from harm. 

Steve was prone to getting into fights, but too prideful to accept help, so he needed to protect subtly. Rooftops were the obvious choice, hidden as well, because being seen by bystanders when not supposed to be meant mission failure. The rooftops weren’t sturdy as they should be  ~~ they were wrong ~~ and didn’t have nearly as many access points as it was used to. It was still more than possible. 

“Ready to comply,” it said once the civilians were gone, then leapt up the building. 

There was an expression of surprise from the ground, but it settled on the roof to watch for now, judging the stability and strength of the roofs around it in case a quick exit was needed. 

They talked together for a bit, smelling worried, but eventually broke apart and headed in different directions. 

It followed Steve into the market area, watched him buy some things, keeping a careful eye out for anyone who might threaten him. He bartered and chattered for a while with each stall holder that had something of interest to him  ~~ it was wrong somehow ~~ gathered supplies like dried meat, some spices, and rags for bandages. 

Then, someone deliberately bumped into Steve, hissing, “that’s what you get for keeping company with Witchers.” 

“Excuse me!” Steve said, loud and sharp. “Why would you say something like that!” 

“Because Witchers are unnatural beasts,” the man snarled. “Anyone who would willingly spend time with them must be warped by their unnatural magics.” 

“You speak of Witchers like I am brought down by being near them!” Steve said, projecting his voice so the others in the square could hear. 

This would not end well. He could see Steve’s temper flaring, and it frantically searched for ways it could drive the civilian away. Shooting would be too obvious, especially with how quiet the town was in contrast to a city, and it also had limited bullets left. It needed to stay concealed… it noticed some stones lodged in the tiles of the roof it was on. 

“It is in fact the opposite, just being near him makes me a better person! Travelling with him, I see more kindness, more care, more  _ humanity  _ than I see travelling with almost any human!” 

In punctuation, it took careful aim and hit the man on the back of the head with a rock. 

He yelped and looked around frantically, but everyone around him was just as confused. As his head was turned, it bounced another rock off a house, making it hit the back of his head. 

He whirled in the other direction, faced with a wall. 

There was murmuring, and then someone in the crowd shouted, “he was struck by a rock out of nowhere, it must be the work of a god!” 

A wave of agreement swept through the crowd, and the man that had been harassing Steve ran, afraid. It nailed him in the back of his head as he ran away. 

Everyone looked at Steve with wide eyes, murmuring behind their hands in awe. From what it was hearing, they believed he was blessed by a god, that stones would rain down from the sky when he was angry. That could be convenient. 

Then, Steve turned his head, looking directly at it, giving it a small nod. It suddenly had a flash of an image, Steve staring at it, his blue helmet covering his face, then snapping a salute, seen through the sight of a sniper rifle. 

It barely held itself back from flinching at the clearness of the image, feeling the sudden, desperate urge to jump off the roof it was on and cover Steve with its body.

It needed to protect Steve, and that could be done so much better on the roof.

Steve looked down again though, and eventually went on his way, a few whispers following him. 

Then he bumped into someone else. 

The moment he laid eyes on him, his hackles went up, and his face curled into a sneer. “Valdo,” he hissed. 

“Julian,” he said calmly, a smile on his lips. “It’s a… pleasure to see you again. You’ve become… quite popular for your peasant songs.” 

“My songs are heard all over the Continent,” Steve said, puffing up. “While yours are only sung in courts, and only known by the people of high class. Mine are known by both the common and noble folk.” 

“That may be,” Valdo said calmly, a slow smirk splitting his face. “But I can push your reputation down to the level of the Butcher of Blaviken that you tried so desperately to boost the reputation of.”

“And  _ you _ made a song made to set people against him,” Steve hissed, even angrier. “You never even  _ attempted  _ to get the true story, and you wrote it on rumours and heresy, making him out to be a devil! I at least base my songs on facts!”

“And you would know so much about songs telling the truth,” Valdo said, reeking so much of rotten pride and satisfaction that it could smell it from all the way up on its rooftop. “I know your earlier works, works that would destroy your reputation irreparably. It makes sense in a way, that a half human like you would be so attracted to a beast like a Witcher. And yet Witchers are beasts that only exist to kill monsters like you. Who knows, maybe that beast will kill you when he finds out.” 

“I never lied to him!” Steve said, sounding panicked. 

~~ All of this sounded wrong. Songs? Half human? ~~

Protecting Steve was its mission, it could have no hesitation.

“He knows that I’m not human and couldn’t care less!” 

“Acceptance from a beast,” Valdo sneered, turning away, “is not the same as acceptance by decent folk. You will be ruined.” 

“I have been researching while you were away,” he said, turning back around, seeming to loom over Steve despite the distance between them. “I learned just how closely that specific composition echoes the events that happened in Lettenhove around the time of your birth. I learned about what signs physically segregate your kind from decent folk. It may not be obvious, but with the knowledge… you are incredibly conspicuous. I’m sure your songs will soon disappear from memory in their disgust.” 

“What—“ Steve managed, looking like he was going to be sick. “Why are you doing this? And why now?” 

“I was tricked into your bed by your unnatural wiles,” Valdo said, sneering. “I will not have others succumb to that same fate. And why now? Because I want to see the look on your face when everything you have built is crumbling.” 

“You’re just mad that I ran away before you could expose me!” Steve panted, panicking. 

Valdo was obviously a threat, if only to Steve’s safety, depending on how well people not like normal ones were treated. 

It had the odd echo of words inside its head, ‘if anyone finds out, Steve, we’re ruined. We’ll get tossed in prison and sterilized if we don’t get beat to death.’ 

“And you were very good at staying away from Oxenfurt unless I was gone during the winter, or if you were with your Witcher,” Valdo continued, gloating. “But now he’s gone, and you have no one to run and hide behind.”

A rock wouldn’t work. It might be able to kill him with one, but it would likely take a long time for him to die, long enough to say things to others. 

It took its rifle from its back and steadied itself, peering through the scope. It judged the angle (hardly needed at this short distance) took a breath and fired a shot through Valdo’s throat. He would never speak again. 

The bang of the gun made people scream, some running over to Valdo, but most seeking cover.

There was a crowd around Steve as it put away it's rifle, but it seemed that they hadn’t heard what they had been talking about, just that they were arguing. People called for a healer, and Steve slipped away, moving to the edge of the crowd. 

It followed him to the edge of the city, where he was met with Geralt, fresh from a fight, but seemed to have only minor injuries. 

“Geralt!” He shouted, barrelling into him and squeezing him in a hug. 

“What’s wrong?” Geralt asked, checking him over. 

The street was clear of bystanders, so it leapt down from the roof and said, “Mission complete.” 

Then it came closer to Steve, needing to check him over. “Are you okay Steve? He didn’t hurt you did he? You shouldn’t have run all the way here with your asthma!” 

They looked at it like it was crazy, and Geralt said, “his name’s Jaskier, not Steve. Are you okay Akvamar?” 

Jaskier. 

He was a bard. 

He was The Asset’s—no, Akvamar’s friend. 

He wasn’t Steve. 

He wasn’t his Mission. 

He was malfunctioning. 

What had he done? 

He needed to go back in the chair for reprogramming. 

He needed to find Steve. 

He needed to reassure Geralt and Jaskier. 

He didn’t do any of those things, but instead ran out of the city. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops... I did not originally plan for Valdo to be in this chapter at all, much less for him to get killed, but he just barged in and threatened Jaskier, and Bucky wouldn’t let that stand!


	7. Breakdown, and maintenance not done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this one is a sad one. Warnings for mentions of torture and Witcher Trials, as well as dehumanization. Geralt also has something like a flashback/panic attack, so be aware! Both Geralt and Bucky are a bit of a mess here!

**Location:Universe 9482438, Redania, Oxenfurt**

**Date:November 6, 1499**

Geralt was glad that the vampire had been so easy to defeat, having caught it sleeping. He was looking forward to being able to watch Jaskier’s performance in the inn that night. 

It was odd that Jaskier always insisted that they stay in an inn the few times they made their way to Oxenfurt while on the Path, yet stayed in his rooms in the university when he taught classes here in the winter. He could tell that Jaskier was actually worried though, so he had let it happen.

As he turned the corner though, Jaskier barreled into him, squeezing him tight. He smelled like fear and panic, of blood that wasn’t his, but most strongly of worry. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, trying to see if he was injured. 

Then Akvamar leapt down from a roof and said blankly, “mission complete.” 

Then his body language changed completely, less ready for anything, and more worried friend, moving closer to Jaskier. “Are you okay Steve? He didn’t hurt you did he? You shouldn’t have run all the way here with your asthma!” 

No wonder he was acting so weird, it seemed that he wasn’t seeing what was actually happening. But what was asthma? 

“His name’s Jaskier, not Steve. Are you okay Akvamar?” 

Akvamar froze in place, eyes wide like he had just realized what he had done. He blinked once, twice, and then bolted out of the city. 

Jaskier went to run after him, but Geralt held him back. “He probably needs some time to collect himself. Why don’t we sit outside the city, and you can tell me what happened.” 

“So you know how he went up onto the rooftops while we talked?” Jaskier said, plopping to the ground. “Well, I took your advice and just ignored it, went to gather some supplies. Then this asshole bumped into me on purpose, and said that it was what I was due because I associate with Witchers! I was about to argue with him properly when a stone came from the sky and hit him on the back of the head! When he turned around to see who had done it, another stone hit him on the back of his head. Everyone else seemed to believe it was the work of a god, but I caught the eye of Akvamar up on one of the rooftops nearby. The man ran away, and was hit again as he ran. Eventually I went back to the market to browse and ran into Valdo Marx.” 

His face twisted, and he began to smell slightly of fear again. This Valdo wasn’t just a rival, like Geralt had suspected after the djinn, but someone that Jaskier was afraid of, even if he wasn’t conscious of that fact. No wonder he wished him dead. 

“Valdo—“ he said, voice shaking slightly. “He pretended to be polite, then said… said that he would reveal my only proper secret. Said that he would ruin my reputation with it.” 

Jaskier’s only proper secret? Something that would ruin his reputation? What would be able to ruin his reputation as it was? 

“Where is he,” he growled, thinking fast. If Jaskier’s reputation was ruined like he thought, they might get kicked out. If he got the money from the contract now, they might be able to— 

“He never got to say it,” Jaskier said, looking into his eyes. “I appreciate you planning for disaster, but before he could say it to anyone, Akvamar shot him through the throat. The people around us were calling for a healer… but I somehow doubt it would help any. Then I ran into you.” 

Geralt suddenly remembered how he had told Akvamar to protect Jaskier, how he had immediately said “ready to comply” in a dead voice and leapt up onto a building. 

“I think he took my request for him as an order,” he said. 

“But why did he go all… blank again?” Jaskier asked. “And why would he call me Steve after he came back down?” 

“I think it was instinct,” Geralt said slowly. “I—when we were taught the basics of the sword, before the trials, we were drilled in the basic moves first. We did them over and over and over, until we could do them without thinking. It made good swordsmanship an instinct, something we could do even strung out on potions and with a concussion.” 

“Which is why you can fight bandits even if they manage to sneak up on you in your sleep,” Jaskier said. “Because you don’t even need to think about it, so you aren’t susceptible to morning brain fog.” 

“Exactly,” Geralt said. “I suspect the same thing happened with Akvamar. When given an order like that, he automatically reacts like that because he’s done it so many times. And you saw how he went from so blank to… fussing? I think that fussing is what… what he was like before the sorcerer got ahold of him. Whoever he was, he took care of and protected someone named Steve so often that it was automatic.” 

“But why would he think of me as Steve?” Jaskier thought out loud. “Maybe I look similar? Or maybe… maybe since he was ordered to protect someone… from what I’ve gathered, he was mostly used to kill, not protect, so protecting is automatically associated with Steve.” 

“That would make sense,” Geralt said. “How about I get the money from the contract, then we go seek him out.” 

“He could probably use some time to process,” Jaskier said, taking his hand to get up. 

+-+

The city was abuzz when they went in, but not because of him this time. It was focused on Jaskier, how rocks had “rained from the sky” to hurt and kill who he had argued with. They said that he must have been blessed by a god to have such things happen. 

Of course, most of the… gravitas of the events could be attributed to the rumour mill, but with how quickly rumours could spread, it could be seen as fact within the day. 

“Why are you so freaked out about? It’s just rocks.” One lady whispered, talking to the woman beside her. 

“You haven’t heard the full story then,” the other woman whispered. “So after the first man got hit, Jaskier went elsewhere, and I happened to be going in the same direction. He bumped into someone who he argued with, the other man stepped away, and then there was a sound like thunder, and he dropped dead with a hole in his throat! Jaskier didn’t even touch him!” 

The sound of the crowd was a lot more than usual, and Geralt could feel a headache coming on. They made their way to the tavern though, where the rumour hadn’t seemed to spread yet, and got the money for the contract. Then they headed back outside the town. 

It was easy to follow Akvamar’s trail, made sharp with fear and panic. It led to a clearing where he was curled up, trembling. He reeked of dread and fear, eyes red from tears. 

“Akvamar,” Jaskier breathed in relief. “Are you okay?” 

“Maintenance required,” he gasped, trembling harder. 

“Maintenance?” Geralt asked. He hadn’t asked for that before, only for punishment. 

“Images,” he whispered. “And words. Like echoes in my head. Not allowed. Need maintenance.” 

“Like echoes?” Jaskier said. “Wait… memories? Those things that aren’t allowed… are you talking about memories?” 

Akvamar nodded shakily, and Geralt’s stomach churned. 

“Can I hug you?” Jaskier asked, voice shaking with emotion. Akvamar nodded cautiously, and Jaskier slowly pulled him into a close hug. Geralt kneeled close by, hoping that it might help to have them both close. 

“I—“ he choked out. “I don’t want to be wiped anymore. I don’t want to go in the Chair again.” His voice was getting more frantic with every word he spoke. “I—please don’t make me go in the Chair. Please-please don’t make me! It hurts! Please, I don’t want to go in the Chair!” 

Geralt registered that Jaskier was talking calmly, but his ears were ringing, and everything else was blurring. 

He remembered how all the Witchers in Kaer Morhen said the Room with that same emphasis. 

It was where boys went in, and Witchers and bodies came out. The whole fortress echoed with the screaming when the trials began, trailing off as more voices were lost, some from screaming, and some forever. 

The children never heard it, their hearing unenhanced, and the pups were taken out on training exercises then, but Geralt had been in the fortress early for winter one year. He made sure to never go early again. The boys would never know how bad it was until they had gone through it. 

The instructors had said that it was painful, but nothing more. They had all been blissfully ignorant, thinking they knew pain from broken bones in the training yard, burns from the Witcher-hot hot springs, or the worst hidings that they got from especially cruel teachers. They hadn’t known there was a difference between pain and agony, between hurt and misery. 

They learned the difference in the Room. 

(He had heard a sorcerer say that the less they knew about the pain, the more likely they were to survive, like how bracing for a hit would make it hurt more.) 

Knowing always made it worse. 

He remembered the dread of knowing he had to go back to the Room for the second set of trials. (Some of the others had to be dragged kicking and screaming to the Room. Sometimes Geralt wondered what would have happened if he had fought it like they had.) 

“You will never have to go through that again,” Jaskier said ferociously, his frantic heartbeat pulling Geralt from his revie. “I swear to you, the only way that will happen is over my dead body. Right Geralt?” 

All he could do was blink, swaying in the wake of the memories, focusing on the pounding of Jaskier’s worried heartbeat. 

Everyone’s heartbeat was different, and Geralt had long memorized Jaskier’s. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier said, breaking through the fog of memory further. 

“Won’t let them do it,” he murmured, focusing on the ground beneath his feet, the weight of armour on him, the sweat on the back of his neck from the hot sun. 

Jaskier gave him a look that said they would talk about it later, and turned back to Akvamar. 

“We won’t let that happen,” he said again. “We don’t want to hurt you, and we won’t let  _ them _ hurt you either. We want you to regain your memories, and I will gladly listen to everything you learn from them. We both care for you Akvamar.” 

Akvamar sobbed into Jaskier’s shoulder and completely broke down, shaking and trembling. If the Chair held even a fraction of the pain that the Room held, then no wonder the scent of his misery was so thick. 

Geralt felt oddly detached from his body, sparks of memory flitting through his brain and trying to drag him away from the present. 

He locked every sense on Jaskier. 

Focusing on his own body, like he did when he meditated, only made him drift further from reality, into a time where he  _ couldn’t  _ focus on anything but his own body and the pain he was in. 

But Jaskier hadn’t been there. Jaskier’s heartbeat meant… safety. If Jaskier was here and calm, his breathing steady and smelling only of faint worry and not fear, then he was safe. Jaskier may be stupid in terms of the fights he picked, but he travelled on his own a lot, and had a good sense for when danger was near. 

Geralt wished, for a single insane second, that he could curl up inside Jaskier, in the space between his heart and lungs, cradled where the calming sounds of  _ living _ could envelop him. It would always sound and smell like safety there, somewhere he could let down his guard, like Kaer Morhen, but without the bad memories entrenched in its stones. It was only a fantasy, but a strangely comforting one nonetheless. It made it easier to stay in the present. 

Slowly Akvamar’s sobs trailed off into shuddering gasps. When he lifted his head, his face was red and swollen

“Geralt dear,” Jaskier murmured. “Would you get him something to nibble on?” 

Geralt grabbed some dried meat and a water skin from his pack, then grabbed a cloth so he could wipe his face. Jaskier passed Akvamar the water, then dabbed at his face with the damp cloth. 

“That should help,” he said softly, passing him some of the dried meat. “I know that I always feel better after a good cry, but the itching after… not fun. Cool water works well though.” 

Akvamar hummed in agreement, leaning into the wet cloth. “You—“ he whispered while nibbling on the meat. “You want me to have the malfunctions—memories?” 

“Very much so,” Jaskier said, Geralt nodding along. “Those memories… they were taken from you by whatever monsters did everything else to you. I want those fuckers to suffer, but I can’t do anything about it now, so I want the opposite of what they want. In this case, it means I want you to recover your memories. To have memories… to know where you came from… it is such a viscerally human thing. To not have memories is to not have proper life at all I think.” 

“Human?” Akvamar questioned, tilting his head in confusion. “But I am not human. I’m just a weapon, that’s all.” 

Jaskier made an awful,  _ wretched  _ sound, and Geralt felt like throwing up. 

“You may not be human,” Geralt said, the words tumbling from his throat with no thought. He usually practiced his words over and over in his head, because if he chose the wrong ones, people would get angry at him, but this was too urgent to think. 

“But you are a  _ person,  _ not a weapon. You—you make choices. You help us with setting up camp when we don’t ask you to, you chose to kill Valdo when he wasn’t a physical threat to Jaskier.” 

“You can choose to be more than a weapon,” Jaskier said fervently. “You can choose to be soft and affectionate rather than bitter and resigned. You can bring beauty and kindness to the world rather than just following orders. You are more than a weapon.” 

“Oh,” Akvamar said quietly. “You—you really think so? You think I can choose to be a person?” 

“Of course,” Geralt said, furious that anyone would ever think of Akvamar as less than. 

“And what about you?” Jaskier asked, turning to Geralt. 

“You say that you aren’t human to excuse a lot of what people do to you. The way you act… you use the excuse of not being human to refuse so many small luxuries. You act like you believe yourself a weapon, and yet, all those refutes that you offered Akvamar apply equally to you.”

“What kind of monster would be so patient with young children crowding around you, in awe of your looks? What weapon would take a contract on a tough monster for a pittance because the people don’t have the money to pay enough? You make all these choices that show that you are more than a weapon, and yet you insist that you are one.” 

But that wasn’t… that wasn’t how it worked. Witchers  _ needed  _ to be honed so sharp to stay alive. A slow Witcher—a Witcher used to luxury—was a dead Witcher. That was a fact. Witchers were made to be weapons so humans were safe, so they didn’t have to be careful.

“Have you gotten slower in your fighting in the last decade?” Jaskier asked quietly, looking up at him with soft eyes. It was like he had seen Geralt’s very thoughts, specifically to refute them. “Have hot baths with oils, and spices on our spit-roasted meat made you less effective?” 

He let the question hang in the air for a while, then talked again. “I would say that you are more effective for them. With more chances to rest and recover, you are faster and more effective. When you get massages and hot baths, your muscles are looser, and you react quicker. With me to patch up your wounds, the scars hurt far less, or not at all. When you are kind and indulging with children, they remember you, and are kind to you back. You can make the choice to be soft, to not be a weapon.” 

Geralt’s head was spinning. It wasn’t… it wasn’t right. It couldn’t be right. Even when he tried to be soft, it didn’t work. Everyone still thought of him as a beast.

“How about we go to the inn,” Jaskier said, getting up. “I won’t force you to talk about this, I know that this is probably quite the revelation, so I’ll let you think on it for a while.” 

Akvamar helped him up, and together, they walked toward the city again.


	8. Children, flower crowns, and flagrant contempt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some wonderful art commissioned from the wonderful @emdibuja on Twitter and Instagram!
> 
> This chapter is going to be a wild one, as you can probably tell by the title!

**Location:Universe 9482438, Redania, Oxenfurt**

**Date:November 7, 1499**

Jaskier woke up slowly, to soft nudges on his shoulder. 

He grumbled his displeasure, but Akvamar said quietly, “time to wake up.” 

It hit Jaskier like a bolt of lightning that it was time! He sat up quickly, seeing the tiny smile on Akvamar’s face. 

He had spent much of his afternoon yesterday preparing a surprise for Akvamar and Geralt today, and getting Akvamar to wake him up early this morning had been easy. 

Geralt groaned and started to shift in their bed, so he stilled so he could settle. He carefully replaced his body with his pillow, warm and smelling of him, so Geralt wouldn’t wake up yet. 

He had been restless and unsettled since the conversation yesterday, and had tossed and turned late into the night. It was clear that saying things plainly like that… it had forced Geralt to confront his perceptions, to actually look inside himself instead of distracting himself from it. 

Jaskier had mentioned that he wasn’t a monster before of course, and had addressed his proclivity to not take little luxuries like letting Jaskier help him with his wounds and wash his hair, but he hadn’t said it, afraid that it would scare Geralt away. 

It had hurt to see Geralt saying things to Akvamar that he would never accept for himself. But now, with it blatantly said, and him being their only way to find Yennefer, and thus having to stick around (even if Jaskier wasn’t quite sure that Akvamar had a spell on him anymore, it would still be good to see her, if only to make sure there weren’t any lingering effects) and with Jaskier around to remind him of what he said… it wasn’t something Geralt could ignore anymore. 

Hopefully leaving him to think hadn’t only made things worse. 

But whatever the case, his plans for today would hopefully help them both, even if Akvamar seemed better adjusted to the idea. (He had given a small child a flower when they were in the streets, and had practically  _ glowed  _ when they had given him a kiss on the cheek) He seemed so awed by the mere  _ idea  _ of being soft, and Jaskier couldn’t help but love it. 

He had  _ plans  _ though, and he needed to get going so they could have the full day. He hummed to himself as he got dressed and cleaned himself with a cloth, gathering the stuff they needed for the day in a bag. 

“What are we doing?” Akvamar asked, getting dressed as well. 

“That my friend,” Jaskier said, grabbing his lute and sitting back down. “Is something for me to know and you to find out.” 

Akvamar pouted slightly, but sat back anyway. 

“Can I pick some breakfast up?” He murmured. “I—you’re putting so much effort into this, I want to help you too.” 

“That is… incredibly sweet,” Jaskier said. “I’d rather not leave Geralt as I’m sure you can tell. If you feel comfortable doing that, then I would greatly appreciate it! Just ask for some porridge, and maybe some fruit if they have any. Here’s the money.” 

He passed him their money pouch, and he quietly ducked out of the room. 

Though he had his lute in his hand, he felt no urge to play it, not with the beat of Geralt’s slow breathing in the room. Geralt deserved this rest, and so much more. 

He couldn’t help but be enchanted by his softness in sleep, his bare upper body bathed in the light of the rising sun, the lines of scars and muscles providing a glorious contrast against the smoothness of the sheet and blanket. He was curled around Jaskier’s pillow, face buried in it, occasionally making impossibly soft snuffling sounds. 

He wasn’t just gorgeous, but also incredibly sweet, and he wasn’t sure how Geralt didn’t go everywhere with a crowd of adoring fans. He couldn’t help but be entranced by Geralt’s every movement, every shift of muscle he made while sleeping, the soft sounds he made in his sleep, everything. 

He couldn’t imagine ever feeling like this for anyone else. 

Not only because Geralt was the first person he had  _ ever  _ felt anything more than lust or friendship for, but because he couldn’t imagine ever  _ wanting  _ to chase after anyone but Geralt. Yes, he may be gruff, not express his affection much, and be different enough to rub him the wrong way sometimes, but when you got past his tough exterior (that he only had up to protect himself) he was refreshingly genuine, (especially compared to the verbal gymnastics required at court) surprisingly sweet, and had a great sense of humour that Jaskier often found himself bending over with laughter at. (On the rare occasions he could actually hear it, because Geralt only said it under his breath, if at all) 

He knew Geralt didn’t return his feelings, had never even called Jaskier his friend, but (barring that one disastrous year where he literally  _ could not stop  _ blushing and stammering at anything Geralt did or said that could be even  _ considered  _ romantic) it was easy to hide them. 

He couldn’t help but yearn for it to be different, but he couldn’t make Geralt acquire feelings for him. He knew that very well, if only ever from the other side of things. 

Then there was a tiny knock on the door, and Akvamar slipped into the room, carrying bowls on a tray in his hands. 

“Oh!” Jaskier said softly, feeling his face redden at getting caught mooning over Geralt  _ again.  _ He almost hoped Akvamar wasn’t aware of being attracted to guys being possible, just so he wouldn’t know how desperate his pining was. 

“I got back a memory,” he said softly as he set the tray on the small table. 

“What was it?” Jaskier asked quietly when Akvamar sat back down on his bed. The fact that Akvamar was  _ already  _ feeling safe enough with them to talk about his memories when just yesterday he had convinced they were to be eradicated was… humbling, in an odd way. Even though he had just met them a few days ago, he still trusted them with this… vulnerability.

“It was morning,” he said wistfully, voice turning into a faint drawl. “Me and… I think it was Steve were in our apartment. I woke up early and… I watched him for a while before I went to work. He was always gorgeous, but he rarely let me say anything about it. He didn’t believe me. You’re in love with him aren’t you.” 

“I—“ Jaskier choked, surprised by his bluntness. 

He checked to make sure Geralt wasn’t awake, but it seemed that he needed his sleep. 

“You… you are right. I’ve loved him for a long time. He clearly doesn’t have feelings for me though. Were you and Steve together?” 

“I don’t know,” Akvamar whispered, shoulders slumping. “I think I remember bathing him, probably after he was sick. He was sick a lot. I think I loved him then too. I don’t… know much else.” 

“That sounds awful,” Jaskier said quietly. “Knowing you were in love with someone, but not knowing why. I guess the best way to get your memories back would be to get to Yennefer. Are you sure that you don’t want to go now?” 

“Whatever today is,” Akvamar said quietly. “I have the feeling that Geralt needs it. And… I would like to see what the surprise is.” 

Then Geralt shifted slightly, and Jaskier knew he was waking up. He stood up and grabbed the tray of food, offering a bowl to Akvamar. 

Geralt grumbled lowly as he opened his eyes, snuffling quietly. “Porridge?” He rumbled, voice raspy from sleep and suppressed tears. 

“Of course my dear Witcher,” Jaskier said, feeling affectionate beyond reason at the sight of one of his golden eyes peeping out from behind his tangled hair. 

He groaned, but turned over and sat up slowly, rubbing at his eyes. “You have your planning face on,” he growled as he grabbed his bowl. “What awful plan do you have now?” 

“It isn’t awful,” Jaskier said smugly. “But it’s also a surprise. Once we’re done with breakfast, we’ll grab Roach and pick something up. Then we can head out into the fields.” 

“For what,” Geralt growled flatly. 

“Not important,” Jaskier said cheerily. “Just wear your normal clothes, not your armour. I’d prefer it if you would leave your swords behind, but if you don’t feel comfortable like that, then bring them along.” 

Geralt pointedly brought his swords along when they went out to the stable to grab Roach, but Jaskier knew it was enough of a win that he didn’t wear his armour to a place so exposed. 

Jaskier hummed as he guided them through the city, a pleasant, soaring melody as he got more and more excited about what they would be doing. 

“Wait here,” he asked Geralt and Akvamar, then ran into a small house. 

“Jaskier!” Called Essi, a friend from his classes in Oxenfurt. “The kids will be ready in a minute, they’re just grabbing their cloaks.” 

“No problem,” Jaskier said, giving Essi a peck to the cheek. 

“I am so jealous of your smooth skin, especially with it being part of your heritage, and not something I can use as well,” Essi said ruefully. “I may not have given birth to these children, but half the time I feel like my skin has not gotten that message.” 

“Then I am happy to take them off your hands for a while!” 

“Maybe I’ll actually be able to sing some things without them interrupting incessantly,” she said with a wry smile.

“I have to ask though Jaskier,” Essi said, voice more cautious now. “I trust you implicitly, you’re my brother, but… you’re sure that they will be safe? I know that you’ve been travelling with the Witcher for a long time, but what about the other one? I just… these two are the most precious things in the world to me. I want them to be safe.” 

Jaskier took a deep breath. He knew that she wasn’t the kind of ignorant person that hated Witchers without reason, and she was more focused on the unknown variable, Akvamar, but… it was instinct to protect his Witcher, and now Akvamar. He had seen both of them vulnerable and soft, and he couldn’t imagine them hurting anyone who didn’t deserve it. 

“They will be safe,” he swore, staring right into Essi’s eyes. “Geralt loves children, even if he never says it, always gets all gooey around them. He has a heart as golden as his eyes. Akvamar is… he’s new, but I trust him with my life. It’s… complicated, but… he’s a real sweetheart. He is intensely protective, and that’s just of me. From how he acts, he would be even more protective of children.” 

“I expect the full story when you get back,” she said firmly. “I know you’re not telling me the whole story about Akvamar, and don’t think I didn’t notice you avoiding my questions about the whole blessed by a god thing yesterday.” 

“I promise Essi,” he said softly. “It’s just… a bit of a mess at the moment, and I don’t have all the information yet.” 

Then Merek and Thea came running into the room, nearly tackling him to the ground with a hug around his legs. 

They were near-identical twins, with black, coiled hair that puffed out adorably, making their cute faces look even more round and childlike. They were incredibly cute, and while Jaskier may not want to be a father, he loved babysitting them when he was in the area. They were such genuinely sweet children that loved a bit of mischief, and Essi deserved a break once in a while. 

“Hi there!” He said cheerily, reaching them down to lift Thea up as she squealed. “Oh look how you’ve grown! I can’t wait to get going!” 

They both squealed in excitement, and Merek tugged at his pants, saying, “where are we going uncle Jaskier?” 

“We are going to the wildflower fields!” He said brightly, spinning Merek in his arms. “We’re going to meet some of my friends first though. Come on outside, I’m sure they’re waiting impatiently for us to come out!” 

They ran towards the door, and Essi handed him a small pack, smacked a kiss on his cheek, then said with a laugh, “now get out of here!” 

He waved at her, then opened the door for the twins, bowing like he would towards a high noble. 

“A horse!” Thea squealed when she ran outside. “Hi horsey!” 

“Her name is Roach,” Geralt said blandly, shooting a wide eyed panicky look at Jaskier. 

“These two lovely children will be joining us on our adventure today,” he said brightly. “This lovely young lady is Thea, and this handsome young man is Merek.” 

Akvamar’s eyes widened, he smiled softly, and knelt down to their level. “And how are you two doing today?” 

“Great!” Thea cheered. “Can I ride Roach? She’s really pretty. It’s a loooong way to the fields.” 

“Yes,” Geralt said, voice still stiff, and still shooting panicked looks at Jaskier, but looking at her softly. “You just have to promise that you won’t pull her mane.” 

“I promise!” She squealed, jumping up and down. 

“You have cat eyes!” Merek said, looking up at Geralt in awe. “All yellow, and with lines instead of circles! Like the kitty I found in an alley!” 

“Thank you,” Geralt said stiffly. “I’m a Witcher, that’s why I have cat eyes.” 

“That’s so cool! Do they glow in the dark too?” 

“They do,” Geralt said, slowly softening, just like Jaskier expected. 

“Why aren’t we allowed to go towards a horse from the front or back?” Merek asked seriously as Jaskier lifted a wiggling Thea up onto Roach. “I’ve asked sooo many adults and none of them know why.” 

Geralt blinked, then relaxed more, like he was preparing to give one of his accidental lectures on monsters. This was already going far better than Jaskier had expected. 

“It’s because of where their eyes are,” Geralt said as Jaskier put Merek on Roaches back. They headed towards the edge of the city. “So you know how your eyes are in the front of your head? You can see everything in front of you, and a little bit to the side. Since horses have eyes on each side of their head, they can see everything to either side, but nothing directly in front or directly behind them. If they can’t see what you’re doing, they get scared, like… if you hear a loud noise in the night. If you don’t know what’s happening, you get scared.” 

“Oh,” Merek said, eyes wide in awe. “That makes so much sense! How do you know that?!” 

“I’m… observant I guess,” Geralt said, leading Roach through the gates. “I have to observe monsters a lot in order to kill them safely.” 

“What is the ugliest monster you’ve ever seen?” Thea said, bouncing on Roach as they got closer to the flower fields. 

“Cockatrice,” Geralt said after a period of silence. “It looks like it was a child of a rooster and a lizard, and twice as ugly as either.” 

“Ewwww,” Thea sneered, nose crumpled in disgust. Then she saw the fields and nearly fell off Roach in her bounce of excitement, before Geralt caught her. 

They stopped next to a large tree at the edge of the field and began to unpack. Geralt lifted the twins from Roach, and they began to chase each other, shrieking with laughter. 

“What is the point of this?” Geralt hissed at Jaskier, looking almost panicked. “What are you trying to prove?” 

“I just want to help my friend,” Jaskier said, widening his eyes innocently. “She could use a break from these little monsters.” 

Geralt huffed, and stomped towards Roach to take off her saddle. Akvamar looked at Jaskier and huffed a tiny laugh and rolled his eyes, like he was saying, ‘I can’t believe how devious you are.’ 

Then Merek came up and tugged at his sleeve, saying, “Mr. Akvamar, can you play monster with us?” 

“And how do you play that?” He asked, kneeling down to his level. 

“Someone is the monster, and they chase everyone else to try and eat them.” 

“He can be a cockatrice!” Thea squealed. 

“Excuse you,” Akvamar said in a fake haughty tone, tossing his hair. “I am much too good looking to be something as ugly as a cockatrice! How dare you insult me like that!” 

Then Merek slapped him on the chest and said, “I’ve put a spell on you! Now you’re a cockatrice!” 

Then he bolted. 

Akvamar froze for a moment, then dramatically wailed, “my looks! How dare you destroy my gorgeousness!” Then he ran after them, and they scattered, shrieking. 

Akvamar was barely running at half the speed of a normal human, yet somehow managed to make it look like he was giving it his all, chasing them both in circles. Occasionally he let out an odd shrieking sound pretended to claw at the twins, making them shriek more. 

Geralt sidled up to him nervously, saying “looks like Akvamar has them well in hand.” 

Jaskier looked at him. He looked almost longing, watching like he wanted to join in, but wasn’t sure how. 

“Oh Witcher!” He said dramatically. “Thank goodness! We have an evil monster that is chasing our children! Please kill it oh dear Witcher!” 

Thea’s eyes widened, and she seemed to get the message. “Save us Witcher!” She shrieked, running again. “We have an evil ugly monster chasing us!” 

“How dare you call me ugly!” Akvamar yelled dramatically, pretending to go faster. “I will grind your bones to make my bread!” 

Geralt shot Jaskier a frantic look, then slowly ran over to Akvamar. After a bit of chasing, he seemed to get the hang of it, though he wasn’t saying anything. Then he gently tackled Akvamar to the ground, and said haltingly, “I will… slay you, foul beast.” 

Akvamar shrieked dramatically, and they began to wrestle, Akvamar flailing on the ground, and pretending to claw at Geralt. Geralt pretended to stab him, and he flopped to the ground limply. 

“I have been killed!” He wailed, pretending to gasp for breath. “And I curse you to also become an evil cockatrice!” 

Then he went limp and stuck out his tongue. 

“Yay!” Marek and Thea shouted, dancing around. “The monster is killed!” 

Jaskier strummed his lute, and launched into the opening chords of toss a coin. 

“We don’t have any coins!” Marek said, looking around. 

“Flowers!” Thea replied, and began tearing up the grass and flowers, tossing handfuls of them over Geralt and Akvamar, laughing wildly. 

Then Geralt groaned lowly, and collapsed to the ground. “Oh no,” he rasped. “I think—I’m turning into a cockatrice.” 

The twins both shrieked, then turned and ran, and after a moment, he followed after them. 

“We need a Witcher!” Marek screamed. 

“I am here!” Jaskier said, placing his lute on the ground and standing up. “I am Julian, from the school of the Cat, and I will save you from this heinous beast!” 

He ran after Geralt, brandishing a stick as a sword. He may not be the fastest, despite his years of running from monsters and angry villagers, but with Geralt matching his speed to the children, it was easy to keep up. 

Eventually, Geralt let him come close enough to tackle him, and Jaskier shoved him forward. 

Geralt turned it into a roll, but stayed on the ground as Jaskier pretended to fight him, hitting him with carefully calculating strikes, made to look devastating, but that didn’t even touch his skin. Then Jaskier pretended to plunge a sword into Geralt’s chest, sitting triumphantly on top of his chest. 

“I have slayed the foul beast!” He cheered, pumping his fist in the air. 

Geralt was looking at him with wide eyes, pupils round and huge. The gold in his eyes glinted in the sun, his hair filled with grass and flowers. 

“Toss a coin to your Witcher,” Akvamar sang, and the kids joined in, tossing grass and flowers over them. 

It jolted Jaskier out of his trance, and he quickly got up, offering a hand to Geralt. He let Jaskier tug him up, then stood there, staring at him. 

“Now you’re the cockatrice uncle!” Thea squealed, running away again. “You’re a Witcher now Merek!”

After many rounds of the game that exhausted Jaskier so that he was barely keeping up, Geralt clapped his hands, and said, “time for lunch.” 

“But I don’t wanna!” Marek whined. “I wanna be the cockatrice again! I’m not hungry!” 

“I can hear your stomach rumbling from here,” Geralt said calmly. “We need to have lunch so you can play even more.” 

Marek pouted, but came along with them as they walked to the bags. 

Akvamar set out a blanket for them to sit on, and Geralt set out the food. It was a hearty meal, cold meat and bread, with a few apples for after. It was delicious, in the way only a good quality meal after lots of running around could be. 

By the end of it, Marek and Thea were wriggling in anticipation of getting back up, and Jaskier released them. 

As they ran, he heard Marek asking to race again, said he was finally faster than her again. 

Jaskier lay down on the blanket and stretched out, content to drowse in the sun while the children ran around. It was getting colder with the autumn, and he was going to  _ relish  _ the hot sunlight while he had it. 

“Going to sleep bard?” Geralt rumbled, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“Just gonna relax,” Jaskier managed, head slowed by the warmth. 

He was left alone for a bit while the twins ran and yelled, dozing in the sun. Then there was two thumps, and two children landed beside him. 

“Wake up!” Thea yelled, startling him from his stupor. “We need you to put flowers in our hair like last time!” 

“Please?” Merek begged, leaning over him with a white toothed grin that contrasted so dramatically with his dark skin. “Please please please pleeeease?” 

“Fine,” Jaskier grumbled, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. “But first you need to find us a bunch of flowers with long stems so we can do it properly.” 

“Okay!” They both shouted, and ran off into the flowers. 

Jaskier sighed and stretched, then grabbed some stuff from his bag. An oil, specially made for the hair they had, a comb, and a lot of colored ribbons for their hair. He spread it out on the blanket, sorting the ribbons into colours, and humming to himself. 

“I can do some,” Akvamar said, looking over the supplies. “I think… I think I remember doing it a lot. Maybe for sisters of mine?” 

“We’ll see how well you remember it then!” Jaskier said, happy that he was remembering things. 

“But,” he said cautiously, “their hair is very different than the hair I remember doing. Is there anything special…” 

“Not really,” Jaskier said. “I have a special oil to help, and you can’t just tug at knots, you have to be careful, but other than that, you can just do normal braids.” 

Akvamar’s face twisted like he was thinking. “So we’re doing Merek too?” 

“Of course,” Jaskier said, confused. “He wouldn’t want to get left out. And besides, he’s the one more likely to sit through braids. Half the time I end up not going through with braids on Thea because she’s too impatient to sit through it.” 

“But—“ Akvamar said, only looking more confused now. “Won’t… others make fun of him? For the braids and flowers?” 

“Maybe a little bit for the flowers,” Jaskier said. “But braids are the easiest and most sturdy way to pull back long hair. It’s not the most common, but hardly unheard of!” 

“It’s just—“ he said, looking a little desperate, tugging absently at his hair. “I think… when I was a kid, if I had hair this long I would have been called a sissy, a queer. Maybe been beat up.” 

“Where you lived must have been quite far from here then,” Jaskier said firmly. “Long hair on men is a common style, it’s often easier to cut that way. You will face no name calling if you have your hair in braids.” 

“I can do your hair while you do Thea’s,” Geralt said quietly. 

“And once I’m done Merek’s, I can do yours Geralt,” Jaskier said cheerily. “I have a lot of practice, so I’ll likely be done first.” 

The kids came running back, arms full of flowers, tossing them on the blanket. 

“Come over here Thea,” Akvamar said, patting the blanket in front of him. “I will give you braids worthy of a princess.” 

Jaskier started with Merek, deciding to give him a crown of braids first, keeping an eye on Akvamar as he began. 

He fiddled with the hair for a bit, then began, a little clumsy at first, but easily getting into the groove as Geralt began to braid his hair. He obviously knew what he was doing. 

Then Thea squealed in pain, and Jaskier looked over, having finished Marek’s first braid. Akvamar was sitting behind Thea, some hair stuck in the grooves of his metal hand, eyes wide and unfocused, like Geralt’s were when he got lost in a memory. 

“That hurt!” Thea whined. 

“I’m sure it did,” Jaskier said, getting up and scooching closer. “Akvamar? Are you okay?” 

”что-то не так,” he said in a language he’d never heard before. “Прости, паучок. Рука не предназначена для таких мягких занятий.” 

“What are you saying?” Thea said, crossing her arms over her chest. 

Akvamar blinked rapidly, and seemed to come back to himself, looking dazed. 

“I—what?” He muttered, looking carefully at Thea. 

“Were you in a memory?” Jaskier asked carefully. 

“Yes. I was braiding a girl's hair. It was red. The arm pulled some of it out. I wasn’t allowed to help her, only train her. But—she was hurt and couldn’t do it herself.” 

“Oh dear,” Jaskier said. “Are you still able to braid Thea’s hair? It’s okay if you need to sit out for a while.” 

“I can do it,” he said, shaking his head and blinking a bit. “I… can’t do it quite as fast as I’m used to I suppose.” 

“What are you talking about?” Merek asked, still sitting in place, if barely. 

“Akvamar here lost his memories before we met,” Jaskier said, going back to his braiding. “He’s getting them back though, if slowly.” 

“That sounds sad,” Merek said thoughtfully. “It would be awful if I forgot Thea.” 

“Like how I would hate to forget Geralt,” Jaskier said, finishing a second braid. “I think we would all hate to forget the ones we love. But Marek, what kind of flowers do you want?” 

“Blue!” He said brightly. “It’s my favorite color now uncle Jaskier!” 

“Ah,” so you’re done with red?” Jaskier asked as he began to weave them in, choosing some dark blue Oxenfurt Blues to contrast with his dark hair. 

“Red was a looong time ago uncle Jaskier,” Marek said, with the air of someone who was saying something obvious. 

“Of course it was,” Jaskier said, tucking a few more flowers in. “But now I will move onto Geralt, and then we can make flower crowns!” 

“I can braid your hair!” Merek said brightly. “I don’t think I can make a few big braids, so I guess I’ll have to make a lot of small braids.” 

Geralt snickered at that, probably imagining how ridiculous he would look, and Jaskier stuck out his tongue at him. 

He looked over at Akvamar’s braiding, and was shocked. He had pulled Thea’s hair into two braids that curled around her head, and joined in the middle to become one. There were pale pink ribbons woven into it, and he had chosen some pink chrysanthemums, and was in the process of weaving them into her hair, face furrowed in concentration. 

Thea was rambling to him about her day, and the small dog she had seen on the street the other day, and… everything she could think of. 

“That’s beautiful Akvamar!” He said, grabbing a yellow ribbon for Geralt’s hair. 

“Thanks,” he said sheepishly, ducking his head. “It probably looks a little weird because it’s puffy underneath the braid, but I only remembered that her hair was different from what I was used to after I was almost done. I think… Before, I used to do my sister’s hair. My Ma didn’t have much time to do it, and they wanted it to look nice. I checked books out of the library to find new patterns for braids.” 

“Very nice,” he said, brushing through Geralt’s hair. 

“Done with your hair Akvamar,” Geralt said, sitting back a bit. It was a plain, sturdy braid, with white flowers tucked clumsily into it. 

“Absolutely stunning my dear Witcher,” Jaskier said brightly, taking the time to comb through Geralt’s hair more than strictly needed. 

“Can I sit on your lap mr. Geralt?” Thea asked. “Umm, sure,” Geralt said cautiously, moving into a slightly more comfortable position. He combed cautiously through her hair with his fingers, slowly relaxing into the comb, like a cat leaning into a petting. 

Then Geralt stiffened suddenly, freezing in place, so stiffly still he was almost trembling. That was how he acted sometimes, when someone said something about Witchers that especially hurt him, but there was no one around… 

Jaskier spied a pair of women whispering to each other as they walked, far away now. Akvamar had stood up, and was glaring ferociously in their direction, like he was about to run after them himself. 

“What did they say,” Jaskier asked Akvamar, his temper quickly rising. They had made Geralt go so tense again, when Jaskier had just made him happy and pliant. 

“Merek, Thea,” Akvamar said calmly. “Why don’t you two go out in the field and try to find me the prettiest and most interesting flowers you can find. I’ll join you in a minute.” 

They cast suspicious looks at him, but his tone was serious and not to be disobeyed, and they ran into the field. 

“They said that children should not be in the care of Witchers. Said that only the very worst of parents would trust a Witcher with their children.” 

“They have insulted two of my very best friends in one fell swoop,” Jaskier said, anger raging in his heart. “They deserve to be shown how wrong they are.” 

Akvamar nodded at them, then ran out into the field after the children.

“Don’t,” Geralt said, voice cracking. 

Jaskier looked at him in surprise at the noise, it was so incredibly rare for him to show emotion, especially in front of others. 

Most of Jaskier’s ferocious anger drained away when he caught a look. His golden eyes were gleaming with tears, wide and shocked, his body trembling slightly. 

“I—“ he managed, voice wavering. “I was trying to be soft,” he said, voice breaking. “I wasn’t hurting them.” 

Jaskier’s heart broke in two at the shaky, broken words. He kneeled down, and Geralt looked up at him, tears starting to drip down his cheeks. 

“I know dear heart,” Jaskier said, cupping Geralt's face in his hands. “I know you would  _ never  _ hurt them. They are idiots who you should  _ never  _ listen to.” 

“Everyone thinks that,” he gasped, curling closer. “No one ever thinks that Witchers are good for anything but violence.” 

“I do,” Jaskier said, pulling Geralt into a close hug, until he was almost on his lap. “Akvamar knows you, and so do Thea and Marek now.” 

“It won’t last,” Geralt sobbed, the shoulder of his doublet already starting to dampen. “It never does, I tried! When—when I started on the path, I thought that maybe, maybe if I was  _ polite,  _ if I was  _ chivalrous,  _ if I was  _ kind,  _ then maybe people wouldn’t hate me! I thought if I was knightly and helpful, maybe they wouldn’t drive me away like our teachers told us would happen! I tried!” he sobbed wildly. 

Jaskier rocked him softly, knowing that Geralt needed to get this out, to purge the poison so he could heal. 

“I made up a stupid fucking noble name to make me sound more trustworthy,” he gasped into Jaskier’s shoulder. “I tried and I tried, but it never worked! I talked to children and their parents pulled them away, reeking of fear. I—I rescued a woman from a man trying to take advantage of her, and she was more scared of me than she was of him! I tried so hard, Jaskier!” 

He dissolved into choking sobs, shaking and gasping for air. 

“Shhh,” he murmured. “It’s alright, I’m right here. Get it out, get it all out.” 

No wonder Geralt was so surprised when people were even remotely kind to him, Jaskier thought, eyes prickling with tears. No wonder such a preciously sweet person had such a prickly exterior. Because he had almost a century of people being so afraid of him to fight against. 

Jaskier made a promise to himself, then and there, that he would use the rest of his abnormally long lifespan to show Geralt that he could be soft and affectionate, no matter what people said of him. 

Geralt sobbed for a long time, voice getting hoarse, soaking the shoulder of his doublet with tears and snot, trembling like a leaf. All Jaskier could do was rock him, pull him close and try to comfort him with his words. This had clearly been a long time coming, and would take a long time to subside. 

His legs ached by the time Geralt shuddered to a stop, from being on the hard ground, and having Geralt’s weight on them. His back ached from supporting Geralt’s body without something behind it. The nice doublet he had on was undoubtedly ruined with snot. 

It was more than worth it. 

He shifted Geralt so he was sitting against the tree, Geralt draped over him, face burrowed into his shoulder. His breathing was slowly getting calmer, and he wasn’t shivering anymore. 

Jaskier grabbed a water skin, and dampened a soft cloth, then gently nudged Geralt’s head up. “Drink some water dear heart,” he said, tipping the skin towards his lips. 

Geralt’s face was flushed and puffy, eyes red and irritated, pupils large and sad. He took slow sips of the water, guided by Jaskier, until he had slowly drained the whole thing. Then Jaskier wiped his face down with the cool water, dabbing gently at the red streaks that marked his face. 

“There we go dear heart,” he said softly, placing the cloth down. 

Then he heard Merek, Thea and Akvamar come over to the blanket, chattering softly. The kids set down several bunches of flowers, and came to sit down. 

“Are you okay Mr. Geralt?” Merek asked cautiously. Geralt shrugged, and buried his face in Jaskier’s shoulder again. 

“He’s not feeling too good right now,” Jaskier said, riveted by the fact that Geralt was willing to show weakness to these children. Maybe he was just tired enough to not want to try. “He’s had a bad day, and he’s pretty tired.” 

“Momma always says that we’ll feel better if we cry about it first,” Thea said imperiously, like she was imparting important wisdom. “And it works. He’ll probably be better soon.” 

Jaskier knew, as a bard, that dealing with emotions was far better than suppressing them. Once he sang or wrote about something, even if he never performed the piece, it was almost as satisfying as a good cry. Essi would know that too, and Jaskier was glad that she had passed on that belief to her children. 

“Yes he will,” Jaskier said. “But for the moment, try to be quiet. It will probably help him feel better. Why don’t you try and teach Akvamar how to make flower crowns?” 

“Yeah!” Thea said in a harsh whisper. They immediately began to whisper with Akvamar, a little louder than would probably be comfortable for Geralt, but quieter than he was expecting. 

He began to brush Geralt's hair again, fixing the tangles that had developed from his crying jag. It made him relax more against him, all his muscles slacking. 

Jaskier gave him a quick kiss to the top of his head, and started to braid his hair. It was simple, but had bright yellow ribbons woven into it to give Geralt some colour, and it should hold his hair out of his face for a while. He added a few buttercups on a whim, feeling proud that Geralt would let him do this. 

It took quite a while for the flower crowns to get started, as Akvamar’s arm shredded quite a few flowers, but they worked together well, and made crowns to match each person. A blue one for Merek, a pink one for Thea, a white one for Akvamar, and then two yellow ones, made with lots of giggling and whispering. 

“Here you go!” Merek said with a wide grin, handing Jaskier both yellow crowns. “Now you can match!” 

Judging by the smirk on Akvamar’s face, he was the mastermind of this particular plot. He stuck his tongue out at him, and placed one of the crowns on his head, and the other on Geralt when he lifted his head. 

[Link to photo](https://zupimages.net/up/21/10/ydja.png)

He couldn’t help the blush that formed, having a crown of buttercups, the thing that he had named himself after, adorning Geralt’s head, accenting the braid that Jaskier had done in his hair. He was more than used to the urge to mark a partner, with teeth and lips and cum. But this, not sexual in the slightest, but a claim nonetheless… it was entrancing. 

The yellow of the flowers was almost the exact shade of his eyes in the sunlight, an incredible color that only highlighted the monochrome nature of the rest of him, making him practically glow in the sunlight. Jaskier couldn’t stop staring. 

“Can we go home now?” Marek whined. “I don’t want to sit in the sun anymore.” 

“Of course,” Akvamar said, looking at them for permission. “Let’s all clean up so Jaskier and Geralt can rest. Then you can ride on Roach on the way home.” 

Geralt nodded in confirmation, and they began to pack everything in the bag. Jaskier sat there for another moment, but Geralt gathered his strength and stood up, helping him up. 

He looked worn thin and exhausted, but Jaskier knew that maybe, now that he had let go of those events, maybe now he could begin to heal. 

He pressed a kiss to Geralt’s nose, and said, “let’s go back to the inn.” 

With the redness of his face from the tears, Geralt almost looked like he was blushing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation for the Russian (in google translate, so please tell me if it’s wrong); Something is wrong. Sorry little spider. The Arm is not designed for such gentle activities.
> 
> Okay, so I’ve definitely learned that the best way for me to really know the depths of a character is to write them interacting with a similar character. Like, I feel like I know Geralt (and Bucky) so well now, despite this being one of the first things I’ve written featuring him! Geralt and Bucky are so similar, yet so incredibly different.
> 
> Like for example, the great tragedy of Bucky is that he doesn’t have the choice to become soft, he was drafted into the war, forced to do things by Hydra, then forced to go on the run after he got free.
> 
> Whereas the great tragedy of Geralt is that, no matter how hard he tries, people will never see him as soft. He loves children, but people will never trust him with them, he saves people out of the goodness of his heart, and they still hate him.


	9. One step forward, two steps back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a fun one, introducing Yennefer! I love her a lot.💜

**Location:Universe 9482438, Redania, outside of Trelogor**

**Date:November 10, 1499**

Geralt hated how weak he was feeling. Ever since his breakdown in the field, he felt like he was constantly teetering on the edge of crying again, like something had broken open his armour and he had no defences against anything. 

It had been so much easier when he pushed his emotions away, when he wouldn’t  _ let  _ things affect him. Now… now even the meaningless whispers and scent of fear that surrounded him when he was in a crowd made a lump form in his throat. 

It was even worse than when he had first started on the Path, because by the time he had given up on trying to prove the people who hated Witchers wrong, he was mostly used to the insults. 

The one thing that made this awful mess manageable was Akvamar and Jaskier, but Jaskier most of all. 

The moment they had gotten into the city from the field, he had heard the rumours swirling around them again, about children riding on a Witcher’s horse, (it was rumoured that Witcher’s horses were as abnormal as the Witcher that rode them, mostly because it was near impossible to ride a Witcher’s horse unless they wanted you to) about them being accompanied by a Witcher, and that Jaskier “must be blessed by a god to have enough power over a Witcher to make him wear flowers in his hair.” 

He had already felt awful from everything that had happened that day, just off a crying jag, and that… had hit him exactly where he was most sensitive. Jaskier had looked over at him and seemed to immediately know what was happening. He had pulled Geralt close, arm around him, then started chattering about everything and nothing. 

Jaskier’s voice, his heartbeat, the sounds his body made was an anchor. It was far nicer to focus on his comforting words than the murmur around them. 

The rest of their time in the city was a blur. He knew they had checked out from the inn at some point, and that they had gathered everything they needed from their rooms, because they ended up making camp for the night on the road, but he had no memories of it. 

He was so exhausted that he had only been able to curl into Jaskier’s side and eat what was handed to him, listening to Jaskier hum, and the fire crackle. It was easier on the road, when there were far less other people around to mess up his mind. 

After he had woken up the next day, with all the awful words he had heard over the years in his mind, he had very cautiously asked Jaskier to remind him that their thoughts didn’t matter. He had agreed to say it ‘as many times as you may need it, for however long you may need it,’ and it was nice. 

It was hard to walk around so vulnerable, but Jaskier, and even Akvamar kept reminding him that he was allowed to be soft, that the other people’s opinions of Witchers didn’t matter. He already  _ was  _ soft and trustworthy, caring and kind. 

Jaskier was the best at knowing exactly when it was needed though, taking a small look at his face at just the moment when words he had heard a long time ago and saying it again. 

Having his hair in the braid Jaskier had given him… was surprisingly nice, the soft aroma of the buttercups hanging around him and just… making him happy. It also helped that Jaskier kept complimenting him, making him almost dizzy with the words being given to him. 

He knew that Jaskier was a flatterer, but he also knew that he never spoke a false compliment, no matter how small. He also replaced the flowers in the braid every morning, humming softly, the soft touch on his hair making him… happy. It was calming to do that in the morning while he braided Akvamar’s hair, just before packing up. It was surprisingly nice to feel the good things so strongly. 

They had just settled down for the night, Jaskier going off to get some firewood, when Akvamar said, “you’re in love with him aren’t you.” 

Geralt nearly fell off the log he was sitting on. 

“I'm not in love with him,” he croaked, stomach sinking. “What—how?” 

“Not important,” Akvamar said firmly. “Why won’t you admit—probably even to yourself—that you love him?” 

Geralt felt like Akvamar had read his mind, like Yennefer did, but instead of keeping to the surface, the things he wanted to do right then, had instead penetrated right to the very centre, the thoughts he guarded the closest. 

“Because he’s human,” he said, feeling himself speak as if from far away. “I'm already too close to him. If I don’t die to a monster, I will live centuries past his lifespan. I would already do anything to ease his hurts now. What would happen if I was in love with him?” 

Akvamar looked strangely confused. “I was in love with Steve,” he said quietly. “Still am, I think. I tried to pretend that I didn’t love him, went out with girls to try and ignore it. I’m not sure what else happened, but I know that I loved him. I don’t think ignoring it will make you love him any less.” 

Geralt’s eyes prickled with tears, just as Jaskier tramped back into the clearing with firewood. 

“You better not be hurting my Witcher!” He said overdramatically, wagging his finger at Akvamar. 

“I'm not,” he said calmly, tilting his head with the tiniest of smirks. “In fact, this may eventually help him.” 

Geralt glared at him, and Akvamar put his focus into cutting some carrots, but mouthed ‘I won’t tell,’ at him when Jaskier’s back was turned.

+-+

Geralt was nervous enough to wake up far earlier than he should have as they rested outside Trelogor, where Yennefer was. He was feeling restless, but still a little steadier as they had made their way through the wilderness, holding his head high when passing travellers commented on his hair in whispers. 

(It helped that it was something Jaskier had done for him, something that Jaskier  _ liked _ to see on him) it was… just easier to remember that their opinions didn’t matter when he had Jaskier and Akvamar by his side to remind him that they cared for him no matter what, that they liked him being soft. Akvamar had even asked for Geralt to braid his hair every morning. 

Yennefer was different though. She was strong and wild, and when they met, there was no room for softness. When they fucked, no matter which way they did it, it was rough and hard. It was good for getting frustrations out, especially after a fight, and very satisfying to not be worried about hurting her, to give it his all. It was a miracle to be able to fuck someone who wasn’t afraid of him, or just wanted to be with a Witcher purely for the excitement factor. 

But softness… was not something they did. Occasionally, they would curl up together for a while afterwards, when one of them was too tired or injured to move, and even rarer were the times that one of them would share a soft truth, under the darkness of the blankets, hidden away from the world. But there was a mutual, silent agreement that it was never mentioned again after. This braid was practically flaunting his softness. 

What would she think of it? This wasn’t something he could just brush off if she decided that it was weak of him. 

Jaskier stirred in his bedroll, then sat up and stretched. “Good morning,” he muttered, blinking sleepily at Geralt. 

He nodded in response, not wanting to talk. Jaskier squinted at him and nodded, slowly getting up. Akvamar was rustling through their packs, looking for something to eat from what supplies they had left. They’d have to restock their provisions, but luckily they still had some money from the contract in Oxenfurt, and a few smaller ones he had picked up along the way. 

As they sat around the ashes of the fire with their meagre breakfast, Jaskier sat behind him on a log. 

“This is looking a little out of sorts,” Jaskier said, playing with the braid. “I could redo it if… you want it to look good again. Or I can just take it out.” 

Jaskier was giving him a choice, he realized. He really liked the braid, Geralt could tell by his scent when he redid the flowers, or played with it, like happiness, but somehow better. But Jaskier also knew him, and had an idea about his relationship with Yennefer, and would be willing to take the braid out if Geralt felt more comfortable like that. 

That support… it made him  _ want  _ to show it off. He didn’t feel comfortable doing the whole thing, but maybe… 

“Can you do something… a little less?” He asked cautiously. “Like no ribbon and flowers?” 

“Of course!” Jaskier said cheerily. “Can I convince you to have one flower at the end, or is that too much?” 

Jaskier’s fingers began to comb the braid out, plucking the flowers out. 

“As long as it’s a small one,” Geralt said cautiously. “And please don’t do an elaborate braid.” 

“One plain braid with a flower at the end coming right up!” Jaskier said, grabbing a comb and beginning to comb it out. “You had that braid in for so long that your hair is beginning to wave a bit, it looks really nice. Unfortunately, your hair is also a bit dirty from being in the same braid for so long. I can wash your hair if you’d like!” 

“Sure,” Geralt mumbled, eyes closed, relishing in the feeling of Jaskier’s hands in his hair. 

“I can grab some water,” Akvamar said, grabbing their pot with the clang of metal on metal. 

“That would be wonderful,” Jaskier said. 

He let Geralt rest his head on his lap, then began to rummage through his bag, humming softly. He heard the clack of bottles, and he set something on the log beside his head. 

When Akvamar came back with the full pot, he said, “going to see if i can forage something else to eat.” 

“Have fun,” Jaskier said, guiding Geralt to sit forwards for a moment. He grabbed the sloshing pot with a huff, then set it on the log between his legs. 

“Dunk,” he said, guiding his head down so he didn’t have to open his eyes. The water was cold, but refreshing, and Jaskier began to scrub at his hair with the soap. 

It was relaxing, having those clever fingers rubbing at his scalp, carding through his hair, and making sure his hair was thoroughly clean. His head lolled on his neck, and he couldn’t help but think that it would be so easy for Jaskier to kill him like this. He would never do it, but it didn’t mean that Geralt was any less vulnerable like this. 

“Oil next,” Jaskier said, guiding his head up. He popped the cork out of the bottle, and Geralt could smell lavender, the familiar scent making it even easier to relax. It was slowly pulled through his hair in a hypnotizing pattern, making it easy to keep relaxing. 

“Rinse,” Jaskier murmured, guiding his head back into the pot to rinse away the oil. Once it was gone, Jaskier began to rub a cloth over his hair to dry it, then combed it out so it was smooth again. Then his hair was braided again, the feel of Jaskier’s hands in his hair, and the sound of his constant chattering made Geralt feel like he might be able to fall asleep again if they didn’t have to go into the Trelogor. 

“It’s not like I don't enjoy having you lounging all over me like a big mountain cat,” Jaskier said affectionately once he finished. “But I do believe we need to get going once Akvamar gets back.” 

Geralt grumbled a protest, but he could hear Akvamar coming back, so they did need to get going. He sat up slowly, blinking at the sunlight that seemed so much brighter after spending so much time with his eyes closed. 

Akvamar came back through the bushes with a large handful of berries, saying, “I’ve eaten my fill already, you can split this between the two of you.” 

+-+

Geralt knocked on the door of what was certainly Yennefer’s house at the moment, the bright purple door being an easy tell. After only a minute she opened it, taking a look at him, and grinning. 

“I had a feeling you’d be showing up soon,” she said wickedly. 

Then she opened the door fully, so she could see Jaskier and Akvamar, and her face twisted. 

“Bard,” she sneered. “And someone else. You usually leave the bard behind.” 

Akvamar staggered back with a tiny noise of fright, eyes wide. 

“Are you okay?” Jaskier said, moving closer. 

Yennefer blinked in surprise, then said, softer than normal, “it’s alright. That was just a brush over your mind, merely enough to figure out whether you had overt aspirations to kill or hurt me. I’ve never seen anyone not a Witcher or a mage be able to detect it.” 

“Not—“ Akvamar said shakily, smelling of fear. “You didn’t do anything?” 

“I only looked,” she said, “I didn’t change anything. I don’t manipulate people’s minds like that.” 

Geralt should have realized that Akvamar would react like that, with whatever had been done to his mind. 

“Come inside,” Yennefer said, moving aside. “I’d rather not give the people on the street a show.” 

Akvamar moved in cautiously, and Geralt made sure to stay near him. They moved to the sitting room and sat down, Yennefer bringing in a tea service. Geralt noticed that Akvamar didn’t drink until Jaskier took a sip of his. 

“Now,” she said. “I have a feeling that you’re here, at least in part, because of him.” 

“Yeah,” Jaskier said. “At first we thought that he was under a powerful compulsion spell, but he’s been fighting it back really well, so it seems less likely. We’d still like to make sure there’s no nasty spells on him, waiting to be tripped.” 

Akvamar nodded, still keeping a wary eye on her. 

“Where on earth did you find him?” She asked. “Don’t tell me that you have an angry mage on your tail.” 

“I don’t think so,” Geralt said. “We were on the Path like normal, but then Akvamar just appeared out of nowhere, just as confused as we were.” 

“I was shot by a weapon,” Akvamar said. “They were—preparing me for a Mission. Then they tested a weapon in the area, and I got hit. I just appeared in front of them.” 

“So there are people who controlled you,” she said thoughtfully. “Well, from what I'm gathering, you don’t have any magic cast on you, so that’s one thing you don’t have to worry about.” 

“Are you sure?” Jaskier asked. “I mean, we were almost certain that his metal arm was controlled by magic.” 

“Metal arm?” She asked, confused. 

Akvamar took off his glove, and rolled up his sleeve, showing off the silver metal, wiggling his fingers at her in a wave. 

“Not a speck of magic,” she said thoughtfully. “But wait, you said that he appeared out of nowhere?” 

“In a flash of blue light,” Geralt said. “And for whatever reason, my medallion didn’t even quiver.” 

“And you didn’t realize that it might be related to the Year of Falling Gods that happened about twenty years ago?” 

“Oh,” Geralt said, suddenly remembering the confusion of that year, how it had stopped as quickly as it had started. 

“I was more focused on the spell we presumed was on Akvamar,” he said, feeling slightly ashamed of overlooking that. He had really messed that up. 

“What are you talking about?” Jaskier asked, giving a soft look at Geralt, like he knew he was ashamed. 

“About twenty years ago,” Yennefer said, “likely before your birth, things began appearing out of thin air in a blue flash of light. No one had any idea where they came from, why they came here… mages all over were called every which way to look at the stuff that appeared. And then after about a year, it stopped completely.” 

“What kind of things?” Akvamar asked cautiously. 

“Dead bodies in odd outfits,” she said. “Big chunks of metal that looked like they were supposed to be armoured transportation. They had wheels and everything, but no space for horses, only weird metal shapes on the inside. Not a hint of magic on them, like your metal arm. Uneducated people assumed they were gods, due to their strangeness.” 

“And if they can make things like that move without any magic,” Jaskier said thoughtfully. “Then your metal arm would make sense. And no wonder you barely seemed to know what to do with Roach! If you can transport yourself without horses…” 

“And it would explain how weird your outfit was,” Geralt said. “It felt and smelled like no fabric I’ve ever encountered. If it was anything like the outfits of the others came through…” 

“It makes sense,” Yennefer said. “But I’d prefer to make sure that he’s from that universe specifically. Follow me.” 

She got up and strode out of the room. They followed her as Jaskier began to ramble. 

“Well no wonder your slang was weird! Because history  _ creates  _ language you see, it’s influenced by events and people, so if your universe has a different  _ history,  _ your universe would also have a different  _ language!  _ I wonder how different music and song is in your universe? I guess you wouldn’t remember, but if you get any memories of the music in your universe I beg that you tell me, my songs could always use a unique twist!” 

Yennefer led them into a small room with a runic circle on the floor and ushered them to the side. 

She stepped in the circle and looked at Akvamar. “It seems that you are from the same universe as those other people,” she said, stepping out of the circle. 

“How can you tell?” Jaskier asked. “What does that circle let you see?” 

“There is… an overlay,” she said. “Things from this universe have a certain overlay, and every single possible universe has a different overlay I believe. You can look if you’d like.” 

“I can?” Jaskier said, practically bouncing in place. 

She nodded, and Jaskier bounded into it. 

“Ohhhh,” he said, eyes widening rapidly, looking like he did when he saw a particularly stunning sunset. He was swinging his head back and forth, trying to see as much as possible. He was bouncing on his toes with excitement and awe, eyes glittering with it. 

“Geralt,” he gasped, then pulled him into the circle with an awed smile. 

Geralt blinked, and he almost understood why Jaskier was so enchanted. It was like looking through dark violet glass, with dots making up a delicate looping pattern covering everything. 

[Link to picture ](https://zupimages.net/up/21/10/qm8n.png)

  
Akvamar was purple, he realized, a looser waving pattern covering him, even the dots making up the shape in a slightly different pattern. 

  
[Link to picture](https://zupimages.net/up/21/10/dx9y.png)

“See?” Jaskier said, pulling him close so he could stay in the circle. 

Jaskier was beautiful, glowing in deep violet, making his eyes only look brighter, delicate loops only emphasizing his stunning features. 

They were staring into each other’s eyes, Geralt realized, Jaskier leaning in just slightly, pupils widening—they were shoved out of the circle, and nearly fell down. 

“Your turn Akvamar,” Yennefer said coolly. “I think they’ve hogged it long enough.” 

They straightened and saw Akvamar step into the circle, his eyes widening in surprise. 

“Oh wow,” he said softly. “Oh wow, Stevie you’ve gotta take a look at this—“ then he turned to look at them. 

The look of grief on his face once he realized that Steve wasn’t here was crippling. He looked devastated, and stepped out of the circle the moment he realized. 

“Steve?” She asked softly. 

“I don’t remember much of anything, but Steve is important.” 

“Why would the circle be useful?” Geralt asked, trying to distract everyone. “The only time I could imagine needing a runic circle like this was during the Conjunction, when humans likely didn’t have magic, and also during the Year of Falling Gods, when you didn’t know if it would happen again.” 

“It was originally used as a divination tool, believe it or not,” she said, taking it as the distraction it was. “For some reason, when it was used, most visions would have a very slightly different overlay, but not all of them. It was speculated that each different overlay was a different universe, that different paths taken in the world would lead to different futures, but it was never really confirmed until things began coming through to the Continent. None of it had any magic about it, and was so incredibly different that it could  _ only  _ be a different universe.” 

“But if we came from a separate universe like is known,” Jaskier said. “Then shouldn’t we have a different overlay than the world around us?” 

“I’m certain that we did in the past,” Yennefer said. “But the materials that appeared here seemed to be affected by the overlay here, and gradually adopted the same overlay. It’s almost certain that’s what happened to the beings that came over in the Conjunction as well.” 

“Fascinating,” Jaskier said, eyes bright. “I can’t believe I haven’t learned this before! I remember that one of our assignments in Oxenfurt was to write a song about the Conjunction. It had been absolutely done to death, especially with so little information on it, but with this… maybe I could make a proper balad out of it! If we had more time, I would surely question you on the Conjunction for the rest of the day!” 

“I… wouldn’t be adverse to that proposition,” Yennefer said, with a hint of surprise. “But what’s the hurry?” 

“Geralt’s getting fidgety about getting to Kaer Morhen in time,” Jaskier said. “I'd rather not tarry.” 

Geralt hadn’t even realized. No wonder he had been so restless lately. 

Yennefer looked at Geralt with a slow, seductive smirk and said, “are you sure you want to go so soon? We could… get reacquainted.” 

The offer was tempting, he couldn’t deny that. The sex was always great with her, but… the vulnerability was still there. With how soft he was feeling, the intensity of sex with her felt… wrong. He suddenly wanted Jaskier to hug him and hold him close. 

“No thank you,” he said quietly. “Kaer Morhen is quite a bit away, and Akvamar and Jaskier would likely appreciate the chance to relax along the way.” 

“Alright,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Then you may as well be on your way. I’ll contact you if i find out anything about getting Akvamar back to his own universe.” 

“Highly appreciated,” Geralt said, leading their group out the door.

+-+

“Geralt,” Jaskier said once they were on the road again. “The way you said it… you want to take me and Akvamar to Kaer Morhen with you this year?” 

He sounded… almost hopeful, like he  _ wanted  _ to be stuck in a drafty, rough, cold fortress for the winter, when he whined so much about rough accommodations on the road. 

“Only if you want to,” Geralt said, his heart beating in his throat. “I can drop you off somewhere along the way.” 

“Of course I want to!” Jaskier said, waving his arms. 

“It’s just cold. And drafty. And the food isn’t as nice as you’re used to.” God, he needed to shut up if he wanted Jaskier to continue wanting to go, but he couldn’t stop his mouth. “And you’ll be trapped there the whole winter. And my brothers aren’t like the people you like to spend time with. And—“ 

“And nothing!” Jaskier said, walking backwards so he could look Geralt in the eyes. “For one, if your brothers are anything like you, I’m sure they will be an absolute delight! And not the type of people I like to spend time with? My dear Witcher, I travel with you for  _ months  _ at a time! By the end, I may wish for a more appreciative audience, but I have been  _ waiting _ for this kind of invitation since I found out you  _ have  _ a family!” 

“Really?” Geralt said, feeling his face heat up, even if it wouldn’t show much. “I—I thought, because you always seemed to have plans for the Winter, and because you always get so grumpy about things not being as nice as you’d like…” 

“I was waiting for an invitation my dear Witcher,” Jaskier said, eyes soft. “But I always made plans in case you didn’t want me to come. I would have thrown them aside in a second if I was invited to Kaer Morhen. And yes, I do like the finer things in life, and prefer to have them if they are available, but that doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t throw it away in a second to meet your family. I did live as a poor wandering bard for quite a while before I met you after all!” 

“You really want to come?” Geralt asked, feeling lighter by the second. 

“Of course I would,” Jaskier said, an impossibly soft look on his face. “I want to meet your family dear heart.” 

Very suddenly Geralt wanted something better than the plain braid with a single buttercup in his hair. He wanted something that showed others how close to his heart Jaskier was. 

“We need to fill up the water skins,” he said, abruptly turning towards the sound of a small stream in the distance. They all knew very well that the water skins were mostly full. Jaskier startled, but followed him with the canteens, Akvamar murmuring something about staying behind to make sure someone wouldn’t steal Roach. 

The trees near the banks of the stream had buttercups growing under them, luckily enough. Geralt filled up what little space remained in the water skins, trying to figure out what to say. He had no clue what he  _ could  _ say that wouldn’t sound just plain weird, but Jaskier had seemed to  _ like _ braiding his hair… 

He rummaged in his small pack and pulled out the soft yellow ribbons that Jaskier had taken out of his hair that morning. “Can you—“ he managed, gesturing to the buttercups on the ground. 

Jaskier  _ glowed.  _ That was the only word Geralt could think of that came close to the expression on Jaskier’s face. He was beaming, eyes glittering, smelling happier than Geralt had ever seen him. 

“I would be honoured,” he breathed, coming close. 

He wrapped Geralt in a tight, close hug, the dizzying scent of pure happiness filling his nose. Geralt couldn’t help but lean into the hug, luxuriating in it like he never would have let himself before. They stood there for several minutes before Jaskier pulled back suddenly, smelling slightly of arousal. 

“I can start that braid now,” he said, sitting down abruptly. Geralt sat in front of him and relaxed, as Jaskier began to unravel his braid. 

He knew that Jaskier was attracted to him, and had been practically since they had met, smelled of arousal quite often around him. However, Jaskier hadn’t instigated anything, so Geralt had decided to not say anything. He knew very well that when Jaskier actually wanted someone, he would go after them relentlessly, and Geralt never got that treatment, so the arousal wasn’t something Jaskier wanted to indulge. And that wasn’t even counting at how his feelings would likely grow after that, even if it was nothing more than one night.

Jaskier slowly began to rebraid his hair, his hands warm and soft against his scalp. How long would it be until those hands began to shake with age? How many more years would Jaskier be able to walk the Path with him? Humans wore down far faster than Witchers, and the Path was hard. It had taken Jaskier a while before he had gotten used to it, and it was when he was clearly in his prime. How long would it be until Jaskier couldn’t physically take the exertion of walking as far as they did? 

Geralt suddenly hated Jaskier’s hands in his hair, the way he made Geralt want to be soft. Jaskier was… somewhere around his late twenties, and would likely die in a few decades, and stop walking the Path far before that. 

This was why he would never say a word about liking him, or even call him a friend. Because Jaskier would die soon enough, and the closer Geralt was to him, the more it would hurt. 

It had been so difficult to walk the Path after the destruction of Kaer Morhen and the deaths of so many Witchers, when his closest friend and favorite teacher still lived. He had been friends with other Witchers of course, they were brothers in arms, but they hadn’t been encouraged to form bonds, and they knew it was likely that at least one Witcher wouldn’t make it to Kaer Morhen for the winter each year. 

~~ It had hurt so much more to hold Dawes’ small body in his arms than to know of the death of dozens of full grown Witchers that he didn’t know well. ~~

But Jaskier… was different. He was vibrant in a way that threw the rest of the world in sharp relief, he made the Path easier, and made Geralt happier than he had ever been. Geralt  _ knew  _ him, inside and out, all due to years of travel beside each other. 

He had tried to drive Jaskier off in the beginning partially because of this, because if he didn’t try to hurt Geralt like was normal… Geralt knew he would care deeply for Jaskier, if his non-hatred for Witchers wasn’t a farce. 

But Jaskier was stubborn, and had stayed with him no matter what, so all he could do was to try to lessen the blow when Jaskier did die. He hated it, but he knew this had to be the last time Jaskier braided his hair. Just having this would make it that much harder to get on the Path once Jaskier was dead. 

To imagine things like this was one thing, but to miss all the little details he could never have imagined? It would be far worse. 

“What’s wrong?” Jaskier asked as he wove buttercups into his hair.

He had likely been caught up in his own happiness at being invited to Kaer Morhen, and hadn’t realized the tension he could feel rising in his shoulders. Jaskier was usually far more observant of him than that. 

“Not important right now,” he grunted, trying to enjoy the feeling of Jaskier’s hands in his hair for the last time. 

Jaskier looked like he was about to say something about it, but refrained, unlike normal. He would let himself have this one last time, and then he would stop. 

“All done,” Jaskier said, sounding worried. 

“Thanks,” he grunted, and stood up to walk back to the road. 

When they came from the woods, Akvamar was standing by Roach’s head, murmuring to her. “—idiots.” Geralt heard before Akvamar noticed they were back. 

The moment he laid eyes on them, he rolled his eyes and started forwards again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, while Yennefer won’t take a big role in this story, I do love her, and she will have a much bigger part in other stories in this universe! She has a big part in raising Ciri, and she also “adopts” two other kids with weird powers that have no parents.... ;)


	10. Chains of memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit all over the place, and thus has a whole lot of warnings!
> 
> Warnings for sensory overload, Bucky’s trigger words, flashbacks, memories of child death and torture, and the Black Widow program. 
> 
> Yeah, be aware of your triggers guys!

**Location:Universe 9482438, Redania**

**Date:November 14, 1499**

~He was laying on the examination table, strapped down. He tried to wriggle out of the restraints, but they wouldn’t budge, even to his enhanced strength. 

“Ahh,” Zola said, leaning over the table. “It is unfortunate that such a strong Asset must be so disobedient. You were made to obey, to be Hydra’s perfect Asset. You should be more like him.” 

A shiny red skull loomed out of the dark, and as it came closer, he saw that it was atop the neck of someone in a long black jacket. He struggled harder, knowing that this was wrong, that he had to get out of here, but the restraints held firm. 

“You’re a liar Sergeant,” the skull said, flame-like lights illuminating the deep hollows of the skull. “You pretend to be a simple soldier. But in reality you’re just afraid to admit we’ve left humanity behind. Unlike you, I embrace it proudly. Without the masquerade...without fear.” 

“We will need to give it maintenance,” Zola said. “It’s malfunctioning.” 

“Barnes, James Buchanan. Sergeant,” he gasped, not knowing where the words were coming from. “32557038.” 

“That will not help you now Asset,” Zola said, smirking widely, eyes glinting from behind his glasses. “You are ours now.” 

“Barnes, James Buchanan. Sergeant, 32557038.” 

Then the pain hit, and he screamed, his body burning. Then it stopped, every muscle aching from fighting it. 

“Barnes, James Buchanan. Sergeant, 32557038,” he gasped. 

The pain came again, torture against already burned nerves, and he screamed, his throat tearing. 

“Barnes, James Buchanan. Sergeant, 32557038,” he gasped when the pain broke. 

Then there was someone else screaming, a word so familiar, yet so wrong, “Akvamar!” 

The restraints were loose, and he leapt on the body in front of him, wrestling them to the ground~

There was light in his eyes, bright and blinding, and a body that he had pinned to the ground that didn’t smell of fear. He growled in threat, but the body beneath him was relaxed and calm. 

“It’s alright Akvamar,” a voice said, steady and familiar. “It was just a nightmare, not real. You’re safe here, I promise.” 

He blinked against the bright light and saw pale skin, long white hair in a braid, wilting flowers tucked into it. His eyes were bright yellow, pupils slit like a cat’s. 

Geralt. 

He scrambled back, landing on his butt. He could have hurt Geralt. It was sinking in now, he’d had a nightmare, had attacked Geralt— 

“It’s alright,” Geralt said, sitting up easily. “You didn’t hurt me at all. It was just a nightmare.” 

“I could have hurt you,” he choked out, horrified by the possibility. “I could have attacked and killed you, all without even knowing that it was you.” 

Losing Geralt… killing him… after all he and Jaskier had done for him… he couldn’t imagine how it could be worse. 

“No offence,” Geralt said softly, with an amused glint in his eyes. “But it wouldn’t be  _ that  _ easy to kill me. You may have a few tricks up your sleeves, but I have been training, possibly for longer than you’ve been alive. If it was necessary, I would have knocked you out.” 

“What if it was Jaskier?” He managed, shaking with fear. 

“I know very well to not try to wake anyone of your caliber while you’re having a nightmare,” Jaskier said calmly. “I tried it  _ once  _ when me and Geralt first began to travel with each other, and Geralt made me promise to never do it again. Yes, there’s a certain amount of danger to that kind of thing, but none of it is on purpose, so why would I blame you for that?” 

“Oh,” Akvamar managed, feeling weak and shaky. 

“Here’s some water,” Geralt said, passing him a water skin. Geralt’s hair looked a lot more disheveled now that Bucky had pinned him to the ground. Several strands now floated around his face, and there was some dirt in it, and some of the vibrant buttercups that had wilted over the last day had fallen out. 

“Why don’t I fix that braid up for you,” Jaskier said. 

“No thanks,” Geralt grumbled, looking to the side. 

It was like he was avoiding Jaskier’s gaze. He had been doing that ever since they had returned from the woods with Geralt’s hair up in a nice braid, the yellow ribbon in it prominent. Akvamar had thought that Geralt had led Jaskier into the woods to finally confess his feelings, but with the braid, and the fact that he had been pulling away from Jaskier ever since, he doubted it. 

“Can I at least replace the flowers?” Jaskier asked, looking sad. 

“No,” Geralt muttered, getting up to grab some breakfast. 

Jaskier’s face fell, his scent souring with sadness at the rejection. Geralt tossed them all some dried meat to eat, and breakfast was a solemn affair. 

Jaskier looked at Geralt like he was begging for him to notice him, sadness radiating off of him. However, instead of even giving Jaskier a mere look, he began to pull the wilted buttercups out of the braid, examining each one with a sad look on his face, like he was grieving the loss of each one. Jaskier seemed to wilt as well with every flower pulled out of his hair. 

Luckily, Geralt didn’t pull the braid out, (Akvamar was half convinced that he would have slapped him in the face for that) but it was enough to make Jaskier not talk as they began to walk again. 

Akvamar couldn’t help but be annoyed at Geralt. There he was, just a kiss away from getting together with the person that he loved, who also loved him back, and he was retreating like the very idea terrified him. Akvamar had been  _ trying  _ to encourage… either of them to make any move at all. It wasn’t working though, because Jaskier seemed convinced that because his subtle clues weren’t received, they were being rebuffed, when Geralt was actually just stupidly oblivious. Geralt knew that Jaskier was attracted to him, but not knowing that he was about as long lived as a Witcher, he wanted to stay away from any closeness, because he thought it would make it easier when Jaskier died. 

They were both so stupid that Akvamar wanted to scream. 

However, if he could get a conversation going about lifespans… Geralt would likely be happy enough to at least steal a kiss. He would have to do it at just the right moment then. 

“What were you screaming?” Jaskier asked, after a long period of painful silence. 

“What?” 

“During the nightmare you had,” Jaskier said, perking up just slightly. “You would scream, then say a set of words, then scream again.” 

“Oh,” he said. He couldn’t remember the words, but he had a spark of memory, if he said those words, they couldn’t get information out of him. Zola hadn’t cared about information though, he had only cared about  _ progress— _

“Akvamar,” Geralt said, sounding worried. 

He blinked away the image and shook his head to shake it away. 

“I’m fine,” he muttered. “I just remembered… we had to say those words… if we were captured. That way we wouldn’t say anything of importance. Zola—he never cared about information, only what he could do to make me better.” 

“So Zola was the one who did this to you,” Geralt said, deathly calm. 

“Some of it,” Akvamar said, still confused by the dream. “I don’t remember much. I hated him.” 

“No wonder,” Jaskier said, voice almost a growl. “If we come across him, I will not hesitate to make sure he regrets what he did to you.” 

“What do those words mean?” Geralt said, a small frown on his face. “Something about it sounds familiar.” 

“Barnes, James Buchanan. Sergeant, 32557038.” The words toppled from his mouth without pause, making Geralt and Jaskier look at each other, worried. He hadn’t even remembered the words until he had said them, with no input from his brain. 

“Name, rank, and number,” he said, trying to think of something else he might know. “It was nothing they couldn’t see on our dog tags if they looked.” 

“Dog tags?” Jaskier asked. 

“Metal tags with our identifying information,” Akvamar said, remembering the feel of them in his hands. “So we could be identified, even if we were in pieces. Then our families would know if we were just missing, or if we had kicked the bucket.” 

“Ooo,” Jaskier said, wincing. 

“That’s a smart idea,” Geralt said. “Almost like our medallions, but more specific. So you were a soldier fighting in a war when you were taken?” 

“Yeah,” he said, faint memories of battlefields in his mind’s eye. “Yeah.” 

“If that was your name before you lost your memory,” Jaskier said, jolting him from the image. “Then would you like us to call you James?”

Akvamar considered it. 

“No,” he said. “It just… feels wrong. I think I was only called James when I was in trouble.”

“Then we’ll stick with Akvamar,” Jaskier said with a smile. 

“Wait,” Geralt said, turning to him properly. “Were the tags shaped like this?” He drew an oblong shape in the air that matched perfectly. 

“Yes,” he said, confused by how Geralt could have known. 

“There’s one big metal thing that landed by Kaer Morhen,” Geralt said. “We investigated, and all of them were wearing the same uniform, all with metal tags, one around their necks, and one in their boots. They all looked like they had seen days of hard battle.” 

“All of them were dead?” Jaskier said, confused. “Surely, if what shot them was a weapon, like with Akvamar here, then they wouldn’t shoot at already dead soldiers!” 

“You’re right,” Geralt said. “There were a lot of injuries, but most of them didn’t seem to be life threatening. They were all dead though, with no sign of what caused their death.” 

“I felt—off for a while after I landed here,” Akvamar said hesitantly. “And was out of breath. I'm enhanced, and I still felt it.” 

“So if the others weren’t enhanced,” Geralt said thoughtfully, “then the journey alone could have killed them. That makes sense.” 

“Maybe this will help you remember more!” Jaskier said cheerfully. 

“There’s a place where one appeared on the way to Kaer Morhen,” Geralt said. “We can stop at the town near it on the way. There’s also one in the Kaer Morhen valley.” 

“Ooo,” Jaskier said, eyes wide. “If you can remember things about the things that came here, not only would you be remembering some of your past, but we would also have so much more information about this! I could make a ballad about this!” 

Akvamar couldn’t help but laugh a little, glad that maybe something good could come out of the dark memories he could feel lurking in the back of his mind.

+-+

The next day, they ended up in a village near a lake with a bunch of contracts on drowners. 

“What do your potions do?” Akvamar asked as he watched Geralt go through his bags in the small campsite they set up in the woods. No use in paying for a room when they were going to move on as soon as possible.

“Some heal me faster,” Geralt said. “Some enhance my strength, or the strength of my Signs. They’re an important part of how I fight monsters.” 

“Do you think they would work on me?” He asked, “I mean, it’s probably better to know if they work before an emergency happens.” 

“You’re right about that,” Geralt said, handing him a small bottle filled with a silvery liquid. He grabbed the ear plugs and a black cloth out of his bag as well. 

“This is Cat. It enhances all senses, but especially vision, so it will be easy to measure the effects. It may be overwhelming at first. All potions have toxicity, which can make you hallucinate or die at especially high levels, but Cat has one of the lowest toxicities. Young Witchers not used to potions can get hurt on lower levels of toxicity than Witchers used to the effects, and adding that to the fact that we know little about how  _ your  _ enhancements will affect how potions affect you… it’s probably best to start with half a Cat. They tend to taste quite awful as well.” 

He swigged down half of the potion and almost gagged, but he managed to keep it down. 

“What is in that thing?” He cried, sticking out his tongue. 

“Plants,” Geralt said, “Dwarven spirits. Monster parts. A lot of things.” 

“No wonder it’s poisonous,” Akvamar said, rolling his eyes. He paused for a minute, waiting for it to take effect, but nothing was happening.

“Aren’t I supposed to be feeling something? All I’m getting is a bad taste in my mouth.” 

“Maybe it’s affecting you slower?” Geralt said, looking confused. “I know that even though potions kill humans, they take effect much slower than it does with Witchers. I don’t know. You’re resistant to toxins right?” 

“Yeah,” Akvamar said. “Much, much more chemicals are needed to affect me than humans.” 

“So it shouldn’t kill you,” Jaskier said, looking just as confused. “This is weird, I’ve seen Geralt down a potion, then have its effects in less than a minute.” 

“Maybe it was too small of a dose to affect you?” Geralt said, rustling through his bag again, then closing it. “We just don’t know enough about how different your enhancements are from mine.” 

Then Akvamar felt a sudden surge of dizziness, and a brief burning feeling. He opened his eyes and yelped, closing them again. The light that had been dim from the leaves blocking it just seconds before, was now blindingly bright, scorching his eyes. 

He could see it through his eyelids too, an orangey glow with branching lines going through it. Were those the veins in his eyelids?! 

He shoved his face in his hands, but it was still too bright. The noise of the woods had increased too, birds from the upper branches sounding like they were right in front of him, the scratch of his clothes more uncomfortable than it had ever been. 

“Akvamar,” came a voice, firm and piercing, without being painful. “I have a blindfold that will block out all light, but you have to take your hands off your eyes. Can you do that for me?” 

It was still too bright, the scents around him almost blinding, and he couldn’t imagine opening up his mouth to respond. He nodded faintly, tapping his finger once against his face, and waited. 

Then he could feel Jaskier’s calloused fingertips just in front of his ears, a soft cloth in front of his eyes. His eyes still hurt from the light, and he desperately didn’t want to take his hands away from them. 

“It’ll only hurt for a tiny bit, and then it will be gone,” Geralt said. “I swear, Jaskier is very good at this.” 

Akvamar whined involuntarily, but gathered his strength and did it. 

It  _ hurt,  _ like fire in his eyes, but Jaskier was fast, and had the blindfold over his eyes before he could flinch. 

It was a relief, the utter blackness in front of his eyes like cool water over a burn. 

“Want the earplugs too?” Jaskier asked, softer now. 

He nodded again, and the familiar shape settled into his ears easily. 

He plugged his nose with his hands. It was still overwhelming, but not nearly as bad as it had been. 

“It affected you at the same rate it would affect a normal human,” Geralt said, muffled now, but still easily audible. “Maybe slightly faster. But you’re enhanced.” 

“I guess that whether it kills you, and  _ when  _ it starts to affect you are completely different things.” 

“Guess so,” Jaskier said. “Now why don’t you go get that contract done.” 

“I can stay,” he said, sounding conflicted. 

“You don’t need to,” Jaskier replied, starting to run his hands through Akvamar’s hair. “I’ve taken care of you on Cat plenty of times, with no help. Unless… Akvamar, do you want him to stay?” 

He considered, but they needed the money, and less people around, (especially with the metal swords, and metal bits on his armour to clash together) the easier it would likely be. He shook his head, and slowly leaned against a tree. 

“I’ll be on my way then,” Geralt said. “The potion will probably last for an hour or two, depending on how differently it affects you, and I’ll probably be back within an hour.” 

“Happy hunting,” Jaskier said, and Geralt moved off. 

It was nice to have the bright light so completely erased with the blindfold on. The headache he could feel now that the immediate pain was gone was not so great though. 

Steve would have loved it anyway. 

But why would Steve have loved it? That thought had been a completely automatic reaction, so he had no clue what it was referring to. 

Then he remembered Steve closing his eyes desperately, one ear covered with his shoulder, the other covered with his hand. His other hand had been clamped over his nose, and he had curled up as tight as he could be. 

Steve had been struck by his senses too. But why? How? 

He prodded at the edges of the memory, trying to work out the context. Steve was far bigger in that memory than any of the others. 

‘Six two and two hundred and forty pounds,’ echoed in his mind in Steve’s voice. ‘I'm at least twice as big as I was.’ The serum had changed him, made muscle grow where it had never been, widening his shoulders, increasing his height. 

Steve had been like him, he realized. Enhanced speed and strength, a blurred memory flahing before his eyes, of Steve punching a goddam tank, and the resulting surge of anger. Enhanced senses too. So Steve was… probably alive in his world. Nothing could outstubborn Steve, he’d fight Death itself if that’s what it took, so… he had to get back. He had to get back to Steve. 

Geralt had told them that there were a ton of old books in Kaer Morhen, and Yennefer knew where they would be if she found something, and they had the whole winter to figure this out. He was going to find Steve again, he promised himself. 

Jaskier was humming, a soft, light, tune that almost seemed to soothe the headache that had built. 

“Ah, so my tune for relaxing Witchers works on you as well,” Jaskier said lightly. “I’m glad.” 

He began to card his fingers through Akvamar’s hair again, the soft, regular motion letting him breathe easy. He dozed off to the humming, the gentle scratch at his scalp a perfect counterpoint to it. 

+-+

He slipped out of his doze a while later to a clatter of metal, and the sound of a person walking through the underbrush. 

He stirred, but Jaskier gently pressed him down again, and he recognized the scent of Geralt. ...As well as an awful rotten scent that clung to him. 

He remembered that Geralt often had to bring back trophies of the monsters he had killed, so that awful smell must be from the drowner trophies. 

“All fine?” Jaskier asked softly. 

“Just a bruise,” Geralt said, sounding much grumpier than he should be. “I’ll go into town to get the money.” 

“We can come if you’d like,” Jaskier said brightly. “I should probably grab some more lute strings, just in case one breaks.” 

“Whatever,” Geralt grumbled. 

“Can I take the blindfold off now?” Akvamar asked, wanting to come along. 

“I think it’s worn off now,” Geralt said, slightly softer. “Start with the earplugs though, just in case.” 

He sat up and pried them out of his ears. “I think it’s back to normal,” he said, feeling oddly dizzy at sitting up without support in the pitch black. 

“I’ll take it off for you,” Jaskier said brightly. 

As Jaskier grabbed it, he realized that his dangling hair had been braided, likely to distract himself. He remembered that, when Steve refused to let him fuss, but he was feeling desperate to fuss over  _ someone  _ at least, he would turn that urge onto his sisters. That was probably what Jaskier was doing now that Geralt was rebuffing his advances. 

He closed his eyes as tight as he could when the headband came off and… he wasn’t seeing every vein in his eyelids anymore. There was only the faintest of glows remaining. 

He cautiously opened an eye, and while it was very bright, it was more, opening your eyes to bright sunlight, not, looking directly at the sun bright. He blinked hard, and the feeling slowly dissipated. 

“I think I’m fine now,” he said, squinting up at Geralt. He looked fine, if wet, with his braid even more disheveled. 

“Good,” he grumbled, his brow loosening slightly. 

Jaskier pulled him into a quick hug, then asked Geralt, “do you need a bath? I could help you with that.” 

“No,” Geralt said, turning away. “I already washed off in the stream.” 

Jaskier’s face fell again, and he slumped slightly. “Then I’ll finish braiding your hair Akvamar,” he said, obviously trying to pump himself up again. 

Geralt growled, but began messing around in his pack. 

Was Geralt jealous? When he could easily be the recipient of this care himself? Akvamar promised himself that once they settled down for the night, he would start the conversation on life spans, if only for his own sanity. 

Even as they walked to the village, ugly cyan shrunken heads in his grasp, he was tense, and stayed in front of them, like he didn’t want to see what he was missing. 

Despite Geralt’s face being intimidating (or maybe because of it) they got the money, then headed out to the few shops that lined the main road. Jaskier got his lute strings, as well as some polish, and Geralt got some more food for them, and a few apples for Roach. 

They were headed out of the town, when two people nearly bumped into them, talking up a storm. He recognized the language, but it likely wasn’t english by the looks on Jaskier’s and Geralt’s faces. 

Then the woman said, “he gave my iron ring to the blacksmith to melt down! I know it was old and beat up, but it was my be **longing, rusted** as it was.” 

His whole head rang like a struck bell. Those words… they were important. They were the beginning of the Words. 

His limbs were numb, and he wasn’t sure if he was moving anymore but… the Words would make him do things. The Words would make everything unimportant but the Mission. 

He… remembered killing a child under the Words. 

She was a Black Widow, and she had failed. 

The trainers decided to make an example of her. 

The Asset was known for breaking free of its programming after killing children, even if it was just a little bit. They needed the insurance that it would do as they needed. 

The Words would make him do that, even if he didn’t want to. 

He bolted. 

He needed to get  _ away  _ from the person with the Words, kill them if he had to because he didn’t want to kill, he didn’t want to kill, he begged them to not make him kill,  _ please— _

“It’s alright,” came a soft voice. “It’s alright. No one will make you kill if you don’t want to, I promise. You’re safe here.” 

The rest of the Words… weren’t coming. There were only the first two bright in his brain, ringing in his ears. 

He couldn’t hear  _ any  _ words of that language, the Words or not. Was the person gone? Had they been driven off? 

He realized that he was sitting on the ground, the seat of his pants damp. 

He was curled into a ball on the ground, Jaskier murmuring soft words to him. 

“I promise, if you don’t want to kill someone, you don’t have to. We won’t make you.” 

His heart was pounding hard, his head aching. 

“But the Words will,” he managed, voice breaking. “The Words will make me kill.” 

“The words?” Geralt asked softly. 

“In—in that language. Certain words in a certain order. They—“ he sobbed out a breath, remembering bodies,  _ so many of them.  _

_ “ _ They make everything not the Mission unimportant. The Mission is the  _ only  _ thing.” 

“But you’re still aware,” Jaskier said, firm and soft. “You still don’t want to kill. They don’t seem to—“ 

“They do!” He sobbed, scared that they weren’t getting it. “They didn’t say all of the words! There’s more, but—I won’t remember them until they  _ say  _ them!” 

He choked on sobs, trembling in the grass. 

He could hurt them, even if most of his programming was gone. Even if he had classified them as his handlers before. 

He knew there had been civil wars in Hydra, factions that split off… they had to use the Words to make him kill the one handler that hadn’t punished him, the temporary one that he had been too close to him for their liking. 

He had cried after. Malfunctioned badly, and after that, they made him forget what he did under the Words. 

He hadn’t cried for the Black Widow he had killed, straight blond hair, sweet brown eyes. 

She had bled so much for such a tiny body. 

A sob tore at his throat, and he screamed. He shrieked, because she had deserved someone to care about her death, to  _ grieve  _ her. 

The hole in her body had been so big for her bird-like chest, tiny and heaving as her blood ran out of her. She had staggered with the force of the bullet entering her at close range. 

He screamed again, chest heaving as he gasped for breath. 

The other Widows had gasped, and gotten punished for just that, but the Soldier… he had stood there, unmoving, vaguely curious as to when she would stop moving, watching absently as the body was dragged to the incinerator. 

He screamed again, his throat burning. 

Natalia had looked at him in horror after that. 

She deserved  _ someone  _ to grieve her, and he didn’t even know her name, and he had  _ watched  _ her bleed out from the bullet  _ he  _ had put into her body, and was  _ he  _ the only one who grieved her? The one who had killed her without hesitation? 

He screamed again, voice rasping in his throat. She deserved better, but it was better him than nothing. 

He sobbed, choking on the mucus in his throat and just letting it happen. He buried his face in his hands and let the sobs rip through him, the tremors coursing through his body. 

She was gone forever, and he had killed her. 

His throat ached with the sounds he was making, low and animal, desperately wishing that he had had a  _ choice.  _

She deserved a full life, and she had lost that. 

The sobs burned through him until his head was pounding, and his eyes dry. There was a hand on each shoulder that kept him from falling over, a soft, firm grip to keep him steady. He started to shiver violently, trembling with exertion. His throat ached and burned, and he coughed roughly, snot dripping down his throat. 

His hands were covered in snot and tears, he realized absently, through the fog in his head. 

One of the hands moved, and began to rub slowly at his scalp, the feeling nice. There was humming too, and the other hand moved to his back, where it rubbed softly, in a steady pattern. 

His eyes burned from the tears. His muscles trembled like overcooked spaghetti noodles. There was some movement, and the hand on his back left briefly, but returned quickly. 

Then there was a blanket draped over his shoulders, soft and warm, smelling of Geralt and Jaskier. He was safe here. 

“Here’s a drink,” a voice said, soft and out of focus. 

He blinked at his hands, wet and slick with snot, the evidence of his grief. A damp cloth was handed to him, and he wiped his hands. 

Once that was done, a water skin was passed to him, and he took a sip. He hadn’t realized how dry his mouth had been until now. 

He splashed some over his eyes, cooling off his hot face, letting the water drip down his cheeks like the tears he didn’t have the energy to shed right now. 

“Now some bread,” Geralt said softly, passing him a piece. 

The crust was nice and crusty, the inside soft and tasty. It was hard to enjoy it though, when it felt like all his emotions had been wrung out of him with the tears. He felt calmer though, and the blanket was warm, and Jaskier’s humming was soft. He would rest, and maybe things would be better when he woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re curious as to why the potion took effect so weirdly for Bucky, check out this theory of mine!
> 
> Edit;this link refuses to work, so just paste this into your browser https://archiveofourown.org/works/29910309 or check out my profile to find it!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! You can find me on my [tumblr](https://perplexinglyparadoxialperson.tumblr.com/), if you want to check me out there!
> 
> See you on Saturday!


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